Metaphysical Wandering
by anais mark
Summary: Outtakes from my story, "Metaphysics."
1. Greenlighting Edward

_**Disclaimer: **The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer._

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* * *

This is a one-shot accompaniment to _Metaphysics _from Edward's point-of-view.

Neither _Metaphysics_ nor this interlude are meant to stand on their own -- they are an alternative to what happened to Bella and Edward after he saved her from Tyler Crowley's van. The first three chapters of _Twilight_ -- and the corresponding portion of _Midninght Sun _remain un-tinkered-with. There are some events in canon I couldn't budge -- they were too well-established. I will leave you to decide what they are and I hope this glimpse inside the Cullen home helps.

Only after (and before) that will I subject you to my whims.

* * *

**EPOV **

I felt like I'd been accosted in my home, violated by the invasion. Admittedly, a surprising first for me.

An inappropriate, and in the current context, macabre, bit of an old commercial played in my mind. _There's only one thing that smells like bacon…and that's bacon._

There could be only one reason for my home to be saturated in such an inexorable, exquisite haze. There was no synthetic available. I had yet to come across a Bella-scented candle or room spray.

She'd been here. And, from the scent of things, she was here recently and for an extended period.

I roared, "ALICE!" Even over the extraordinary internal volume at which she was currently reciting Flaubert in the original French, I knew she heard me. She expected it.

I did a quick sweep of the downstairs and was up the stairs at her bedroom door in a flash. She and Jasper were inside, waiting.

Jasper interrupted his own musings to invite me in. …_You can open the door, Edward…. _

I couldn't bring myself to look at her. With my head bowed, I pinched the bridge of my nose, wearing a path up and down with my thumb and forefinger. "Please. _Please _tell me that _she _is going door-to-door for some worthy cause and _happened_ upon this residence moments before I arrived home."

Alice rushed to defend herself, _Edward, you know that's not the case. And, **you're** just going to-_

A growl vibrated through my chest in warning. "No. Stop there. We agreed that I could do this at my own pace. You can spend as much time with her as you wish, I will acclimate at mine. And, I've been doing that, as you are well aware. Why can my home not be sacred? I have to be tortured here, as well?"

…_I'm not catching tortured, exactly. Tempted, I'll give you, but you aren't truly tortured, brother_…. Only Jasper would split hairs over the difference.

"This isn't a debate. I will not play games with you, either of you. Your thoughts should be your own, and I am willing to respect that boundary…in theory. But, somehow I feel that my interests would have been better-served recently had I been more willing to pry. What are you doing with her?" I looked pointedly at my sister before I continued. "You're hiding something and I have no intention of finding out the hard way."

…_This is my cue. _Jasper rose. "My love, I am going to leave you to it. This conversation can continue without my help." He placed a kiss on her temple and walked away, directing his thoughts at me as he did.

…_Edward, don't be too hard on her. She loves you and she loves Bella, she's aching to get the chance to show it. Since the day Alice realized we would be here with her, she's been like a spring pressed down between that thumb and forefinger you worry so much. You get distracted and let up for a sec and that thing's gone. I'm guessing that even you haven't monitored her all day every day. I think she's been doing a lot of pinging around unattended._

_Hear her out. That's all I'm saying…._

"Why, Alice? Why couldn't you just let well enough alone? I will see her in the morning. Early, in the morning."

"You were going to be as miserable as the first day in Biology. That's why. None of us need that kind of risk."

She slowed to refill her empty lungs, really refilling her ammunition cartridge, and I tried to get off a shot of my own. "No lives-"

She was having none of it. "Not finished, brother dear. We aren't just here to have somewhere new to cycle through the school system. _You _have a job."

Always a surprise with the know-it-all.

We shared so much; I should have known I wouldn't be keeping secret something that would take up so much of my time. She couldn't know _everything_ yet...I didn't know everything.

She continued, blithely prepared for my shock, "And I suppose that, since I know about it, I could be presumed upon to pitch in. We can't afford for you to be overwhelmed. Having her here was me helping.

"Crawling into her window every night is creepy -- even if it is for her own good -- and you can just leave when you get overwhelmed. This way is tougher on you and safer for her."

In disbelief, I shot back, "That's _all_? That's the only reason Bella Swan was in the foyer, living room, dining room, kitchen, powder room and using the coverlet now across the foot of my bed? You couldn't find a reason to wrap her in a jacket or sweater of mine? Or, maybe, knock her out and let her come to across my bed?"

Immediately, she made sure I regretted being caustic. Alice never played fair if I resorted to sarcasm.

Her vivid imagination had Bella sprawled elegantly across my bed in a dark blue satin evening gown with an icepack on her forehead. She replaced the icepack with a cool, white palm. My palm, no doubt. I cut her short.

"Fine. I _apologize_ for being sarcastic. But, my original question remains unanswered. Was protecting me -- us -- the _only _reason Bella was all over this house?"

Too solemnly, she vowed, "Anything else would be a distant second to that, Edward."

"Still not an answer. What are you hiding? It must be cataclysmic. You are usually so proud of yourself that you're shouting it from the rooftops."

I briefly recalled Alice planting a thought in Bella's head of missing my piano compositions while I was "away" at boarding school. I had recently cut myself back to only sneaking into her room when I felt something might be wrong. Peter and Charlotte arrived that same morning, so I was obliged to ensure her safety.

While I am never privy to what Bella thinks, or dreams, I _can_ see and hear what everyone else does. She spoke my name that night, as she had before; anyone who happened into her room could have heard it.

And, she called me an angel.

At least, I was fairly sure she was referring to _me_ as the angel. We were somewhere bright, I gathered, and I feared that she'd actually seen one of us in the sun because she spoke so clearly of the sun's rays glinting off my skin.

Not a week later, Bella's best friend phased for the first time. My midnight raids were no longer an option. Alice said I could thank her in the form of stilettos.

But, this time, she was silent where she should have been smug. I was just waiting for the other stiletto to drop.

"You know I think you should try again to spend time with her, that's no secret. What else is there to know?" Again, she was the picture of innocence.

No sense beating a dead horse. I let it drop, with a warning. "Fine. I will find out."

She said brightly, "It will be in plenty of time, don't worry."

A distraught voice interrupted my thoughts as I stalked towards the stairs and wondered how I hadn't heard it before. I turned towards the stream of discontent gurgling up from behind me.

The door to Alice's room flew open. Suddenly, she wanted to talk. Conveniently enough.

I rushed past her towards Esme's studio, I wouldn't be distracted any longer.

…_Don't make this worse on her, Edward. She's just piecing this together, as well. _**She**_ just doesn't need to throw a tantrum in the process...._

Alice flashed a vision of me, in the studio with Esme -- we were talking about Sophie, Bella and me. Esme couldn't even talk about Carlisle yet and so spent the weekend with Rose in Paris, their return shimmering with uncertainty.

The vision stopped me dead in my tracks, my hand hovering above the doorknob.

I decided to walk downstairs and listen from the kitchen.

Alice's future for her changed to Esme painting in her studio alone, well into the weekend, but she stayed home. Alice's visions could be as damning an accusation as any signed confession, maybe even more so.

How many times had I believed my own lies? Long enough to live away from Carlisle and Esme. Consequence cannot be influenced, no matter how convincing the argument, and the sight of Esme hurting shamed me.

It made me so ashamed of myself that I almost dismissed the rest of her thoughts as too intimate to examine. Almost.

…_Why wouldn't anyone tell me that Edward was doing a thesis on Sophie Copeland? Surely, I don't seem that insecure. And Bella, too? Why would Edward hide that? _

Bella, too? What was Bella doing, too?

…_Maybe it's a ruse to spend time with her. That would be an innocent-enough explanation…_

The rush of realization -- realization of what Bella was doing _too _-- made me so angry that my vision darkened.

My physical confrontations with other vampires had been few, but I remembered a detail common to them all. Less-important extras became lost in the black outside the spotlight mentally directed at my goal, whatever form the threat took. Momentarily, I saw nothing but Alice in the spotlight. She wouldn't stay there much longer; we were going to settle this.

She had put all of us in danger, now. She had thrown Bella's lot in with ours. How had she missed that outcome? Or, worse, how had a vision of Bella entangled with the Cullens not convinced her of its iniquity?

_Bella. Oh, Bella. Not her, not again. _

_We_ were the danger. There was never any danger to her that compared to what we posed -- compared to what we could expose her to.

I turned to face the lone threat to my ma-

I grimaced when I realized my slip. I didn't even get the privilege of calling her that.

What happened next occurred so quickly that Alice's expression barely had the chance to change.

My guilt and sadness ballooned from halting to crippling and I was on my knees less than half a second from when I heard Esme thinking about my thesis overlapping Bella's.

Mired down in a vast pool of inky-dark woe, the center of my chest became a black hole pulling me into the center. I didn't even have the will to fight my way out. Nothing existed for me but the damage I was inflicting on Bella. Just a moment more and I would shrink down to a single point and disappear. My existence would be meaningless if hers were in mortal peril. I would be forever suspended, paralyzed by my grief, in a darkness worse than any circle of hell.

As I focused on the speck of light in my ever-shrinking universe -- Bella remaining -- the darkness began to recede. My melancholy ebbed with it.

The shift in my mood was too sudden -- even allowing for my own mercurial nature.

Whose phone was going off?

_Jasper_. I turned to face him.

…_Just working with what you gave me…._

I had to leave the house. "I'm going for a walk, I think I need some untainted air. Care to join me?"

"Not a bad idea. I'm still getting the lay of the land."

Jasper read the text waiting on his phone. It was from Alice.

_Take your time._

My walk with Jasper was therapeutic for all. Living in such a populated area held obvious drawbacks for us. Quenching our thirst was more than simply stepping out the door and taking off. We had to get away from people before we could even begin to run.

But the mass of thoughts thrown at me when we were around so many did help distract me at times like this. Twenty-four hours a day, someone -- usually many someones -- screamed their thoughts my way.

By the time we arrived back at the house, Esme's tortured mess of thoughts had stepped back in intensity, she'd even conceded to talking things over with Carlisle. As much as I wanted to assure her that I would never consciously hurt her, that was exactly what I'd done. And my reasons paled next to her pain.

How could Carlisle ever draw a scalpel across human skin? Being for the greater good didn't lessen the initial pain, it barely justified it.

Alice was another issue entirely.

She'd been plotting for some time now, I was just beginning to piece together how long now that my thoughts weren't so...crimson Even she couldn't have maneuvered Carlisle into wanting to be here, but I was afraid she'd done so to Bella.

Alice had e-mailed Bella five days before we officially "arrived". I knew that already. Bella's sleep-talking skyrocketed immediately. While I couldn't help but love the idea that she was so affected by me, at the same time I loathed affecting her in any way. The whole point of my not courting Bella, of not pursuing her, was so that she could live a happy, healthy, normal human existence. We'd pursued her across the Atlantic and already she was sleeping fitfully and working like a woman possessed. This was not what I'd had in mind.

Whatever good she saw coming out of inserting our family back into Bella's life was irrelevant. We were already counteracting it.

We were they very antidote to "life", a toxin to be avoided at all costs. The warnings were written all over our bodies-- the deathly paleness, the razor-edged teeth, the eerie gold of our eyes. The disguise was too perfect for Bella's good.

Jasper knew some of what Alice saw, but couldn't help me entirely. Her visions involved Bella and I working late hours in libraries, public and private, all over London. The work distracted Bella enough that we got to know each other in the way humans normally do -- over shared tasks and interests. And, of course, private libraries in British homes always included romantic fireplaces and poor lighting -- very Gothic.

He laughed softly at the retelling of his wife's machinations.._.she's a force of nature, man, but sometimes it's just warm and sunny. Or, in this case, your version of that -- cozy and poorly lit. _

_Well played, Alice._

* * *

I spent the evening waiting on Carlisle's return from his first night shift in London, considering Alice's plan and mourning its demise. However tempting the proposition, throwing Bella into whatever mess Carlisle's friend found was no good.

Bella would have to be convinced to find another subject for her dissertation. She was so taken by classic literature, illustrated by the leaning tower on her dresser, I assured myself that we could find something more appropriate for her to immerse herself in for the next year or so.

_Sanditon_, Austen's unfinished novel, had been completed by some lucky writer and published not long ago. Austen had other loose ends, a certain vampire of her correspondence had told me once upon a time. Alice wasn't the only one of us who could arrange a coincidence or two. Surely, that would be more tempting than obscure verses and forged letters.

And, much more lucrative. I could distract her from whatever danger digging up the letters of an aged vampire might present while providing for her in a more permanent way, as well. She would adore finding a lost Austen novel.

Why had it taken a catastrophe for me to think of it?

Alice interrupted my self-congratulatory reverie. …_I know that you're plotting, Edward, and it is not working out as you plan. She's not some toddler or newborn that you can distract with a new toy…unless you'd like to fix our starting point and make her a newborn…._

I growled, not even attempting to subdue the rumble that poured from my chest.

…_Fine, fine. We'll do it the hard way. What do you _want_ to happen? Maybe I can help?_

"I think I'm all stocked up on your help right now," I hissed at her.

Bella, crying hysterically and packing, was certain in Alice's vision of her near-future. Heartbreak at the thought wadded up my stone heart like a piece of notebook paper. My plans of diverting Bella's attention away from Sophie Copeland went with it.

Anything was better than hurting Bella so. Exasperated by my lack of options, I said through clenched teeth, "Fine, Alice. What will work?"

"Treating her like an adult human would be a nice start," she answered with a straight face.

She didn't want to go down this road with me. If she wanted to clean up some of her mess, so be it. I wouldn't be subjected to her editorializing in the process. "Sarcasm is back on the table? I hardly think that's a good starting point."

"You need to take that statement at face value. She isn't weak-minded or in need of someone to rescue her this time. Your presence will only distract her as long as you stand in front of her. While you could probably do that forever, even Bella would fall asleep eventually. You can't orchestrate some disaster so that you can rush in like I did in Port Angeles and move her from its path. Don't think I haven't seen you plotting! She is here because she _wants _to be, doing something she _loves_ and you need to respect that. How many humans even get such an opportunity? Would you really deny her this? We both know she could love you, don't deny her a life just because you won't be part of it."

No meaningful conversation between Alice and I had ever occurred without me wondering if the exchange resulted from premeditation on her part or was spontaneous. I wouldn't accuse her of being conniving or underhanded, but behaving in such a manner was sometimes beyond her control. I considered her words and decided that, this time, it didn't matter. Heeding her admonition was the right course, even if she'd planned that little speech for decades.

Treating Bella as an equal wasn't going to be an easy task for me.

And, not because I didn't feel threatened by her. Quite the opposite was the case. No one scared me like she could. Nothing on the face of the earth caused me more worry than Bella Swan.

I worried constantly over her safety, her well-being, her future, her friends...especially the furry ones. Every detail of her existence, however mundane it might seem on the surface, gave me fodder to chew on for days at a time. She made me pay attention to my words; she got more out of them than most. She knew when I lied outright and when I was simply not telling the whole truth.

I couldn't win with Bella if I fought fair, so I resorted to a little…_gamesmanship._

So, even though my initial reaction to Alice's surprising revelation was not a receptive one, I reconsidered.

Instead of real conversations to find out what interested her, I took a shortcut and rifled through her CD and book collection at night. Rather than ask how her day was, I spied on her through the thoughts of assorted acquaintances who did have the courtesy to ask.

I had to stop myself from recounting the ways I'd undermined her freewill, it pained me too much.

_Another thing, while we're laying this on the line. I know Vampire Pathophysiology is normally the sole domain of the geekdom, but I have a theory to be tossed in._

_I think you are going to break your brittle vamp brain if you continue fighting this connection to Bella. Our nature is not to bend. You've done some amazing things by the sheer force of your will -- truly impressive. But this life is not about bending and stretching to accomodate. We are the top of the food chain -- we don't need to adapt._

_When we mate, our stony hearts change dramatically. From what I can tell, it is a one-time occurence, a never-to-be-repeated event. I've never seen someone fight it off and it looks like the battle is breaking you. You are going to crack under the stress if you keep adding more weight._

I'd never considered what avoiding my connection to Bella would do to me -- and even as I registerd the truth in Alice's words all I could think was, _I can't break as long as she's under my watch._

_She should get the chance to decide for herself if she wants you around ...._

"Alice, I can't tell her. It would be like taking her from a pitch black room and shoving her into the daylight. She still couldn't see until her eyes adjust."

_Humans don't just do that. They wake up gradually and walk outside when they're good and ready._

Bella _was _a perceptive girl....

Alice raised an eyebrow and smiled conspiratorially. …_It will work, I know it will…. _

I got the feeling that our ideas of success differed where Bella was concerned.

A sigh escaped my lips as Alice showed me what Jasper told me earlier. …_And get to class early tomorrow…._

I chuckled, seeing the why flit through Alice's mind. Some things, mercifully, never change.

* * *

Carlisle texted me at four that morning. He would be staying at the hospital until after I left for class. Alice confirmed the lack of sunshine and we made arrangements to meet on campus on his way home.

I curled back up on the couch, in the exact spot she'd sat for some time earlier that evening, with my face buried in the cashmere Esme confessed to having wrapped around her delicate shoulders. Alice was irritated for not having thought of it herself.

Without the worry of burying my teeth into the crook of her neck, the smell was overwhelming.

* * *

My morning went much as Alice predicted. It was heaven and hell all wrapped in Bella's warm little hands.

I slowed my steps as I approached the lecture hall I'd be in that morning, wondering if something might be keeping Bella. I had to search her out, coming the opposite direction. She looked up and made a dash for the door when she saw my approach, catching her left shoulder on the doorjamb. I would get no more chances to acclimate to her scent. Quickly, probably too fast to be inconspicuous, I rushed forward to keep her from hitting the ground and being thoroughly embarrassed in front of everyone inside.

I tried to look distracted, as if it could have been me who knocked into her. A few of them got that impression.

_What a dumbshit_…_He could've put her face in the floor…._

_Merde. He sees **her **first...._

My arms slid beneath hers and I pulled her against my chest while she recovered her balance. I made sure she had plenty of time, making allowance for her questionable equilibrium. My right hand reached for the steaming mug she clutched and curled around her hand in the process. I slid it down to her toppling books, certain the steaming tea was no longer a danger.

She shouldn't be carrying such a thing; it made her a menace to herself and others.

The thick jacket, gloves and boots helped muffle her scent, but it was like trying to put a silencer over the end of a cannon. I reeled as the sweet aroma pummeled my senses. Even in my poorly-conceived rescue from Tyler Crowley's van, we'd not had this much contact.

I railed against the urge to pull back her scarf, place my mouth desperately at the base her neck and let her carotid push nectar into my mouth at the same time I fought just as hard against the overwhelming desire to pull back her hood and bury my face in her halo of chestnut hair. The realization was bittersweet for me; I lost a carefully guarded part of myself either way.

How could I have thought that sitting across the room, observing her sleeping form could prepare me for this? The conflict, the desires, the monstrous pull such a harmless creature held for me defied logic. It existed on another plane entirely.

I was home again.

As she no doubt instructed them to do, Bella's feet made solid contact with the linoleum and she began to right herself. She took in a sharp little breath and she wobbled once more. I tried not to laugh aloud, but the combination of her scent, her body and my memories of her associated with the two overwhelmed me. My mouth was centimeters from her ear, the offending laugh was unmistakable.

She stiffened, so I whispered before she could escape, "I have so missed the excitement of seeing you each day, Miss Swan."

As I feared, she did try to escape. But, she turned _towards _me! She was about to launch into some response, but lost herself again. I fumbled to say something to cover her clumsiness, to give her a moment. I wouldn't miss her delicious response.

"It is still 'Miss' Swan, yes?"

Her feet were firmly beneath her now and I couldn't pretend for much longer that supporting her was for her benefit. I began to ease her to face me so that she could properly tell me off without injuring herself. She was more successful at a second attempt to verbally run me through. "Yes. Although, I don't think you've ever called me that, Mr. Cullen. Assuming you speak to me at all…will we be speaking this go-round?"

Laughing again wouldn't be wise, and she would have no idea why I thought she was so amusing. All the self-deprecating British humor was rubbing off on me, I guessed, but she couldn't have any way of knowing that.

The smile spread across my face before I could help myself. I wasn't trying to influence her, but I couldn't force myself to turn away before I heard her breathing begin to slow and almost halt entirely. She exhaled and then…nothing. Her heart rate slowed in tandem. I waited while her brain's instinct to breathe without conscious instruction kicked in. I just couldn't risk putting my mouth to hers, she had to breathe on her own.

I heard a shallow intake of air and began to extricate her from my covetous grasp.

Though I knew she hadn't been in this room for almost forty-eight hours, I had no problem placing myself behind the seat she'd last occupied. I think she considered finding another seat, but her stubbornness won out and she didn't let me change her habit. Air rushed from beneath her coat as she sat; the battering ram returned. I forced most of the air from my lungs, combating what I could.

I liked the implied meaning of her action and pondered this woman before me, trying to take my mind off my tortured throat. Already, I was in better control than I had ever been in Forks.

While no doubt existed in me that this was the same girl I'd been so taken with at Forks High, the rough edges of her personality were worn smoother with age. She was much more comfortable in her own skin. And much, much more to be feared than in high school.

Even while thinking that, I couldn't keep myself from leaning forward and muttering something into her ear. We were about to be called to order, I didn't want our old relationship hanging over the entire morning.

"I never said I didn't _want_ to speak to you." Hope that would make even Esme revel in its shining possibility rose up from the center of my chest.

"Since no one but you was enforcing the policy, _Mister_ Cullen, you didn't have to."

Until I could repair the breach with Bella, it appeared hope was all I possessed.

After class, I made a point of speaking to Bella again without having to support her weight at the same time. We compared schedules and exchanged contact information, a superfluous activity on my part. But, now she had my number and it _was_ a very human interaction. Telling her I had no intention of things going the same direction they had Forks wouldn't have done any good. I needed to show her.

I didn't want to leave on a sour note, but I mentioned our overlapping thesis topics anyway, just to test the water. She wasn't thrilled at the prospect, I didn't need to read her mind to figure that out, but she seemed more comfortable as I emphasized the differences. As we walked out of the classroom, we compared our takes on William and Sophie. Alice was right, of course. She lit up when she talked about all the work she'd already done scraping together Sophie's past. She even offered to introduce me to a source of letters she had.

If I'd bothered to talk to her about her thesis before this, I'd have known all about her enthusiasm. I'd never seen her so naked of self-consciousness.

As we rounded a corner, a lanky man intent on his next cup of coffee almost knocked her over. I glared at him but she barely noticed the interruption.

I wondered what letters she had that I wouldn't already know about. They were probably written by William and not forged by Carlisle, more useful to her than me.

We were at her gate and stayed there to finish our conversation.

Standing quietly, enjoying her proximity legitimately for once, I noticed the vice of her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. She would put a hole in it soon and that wouldn't be healthy for either of us. "Do you have an apartment closer to the campus than your parents' home?"

I didn't follow her train of thought. "No. My schedule overlaps with Alice's three days a week, so driving isn't a big deal. We only had to get a permit for one spot."

Her cheeks reddened. I still didn't understand.

Did she want to invite me in?

I had no idea how I should proceed. Obviously, I wanted her to extend the invitation, but I wasn't sure being alone together was a good idea for me.

"I mean, I…I planned on heading right to the library today. I usually come home for lunch, but I brought something to eat and planned on walking there. Somehow, we ended up here and I was hoping it was for you. Autopilot, I guess. I'm sorry I brought you all the way here for nothing."

I knew that every Thursday, she would walk back to her flat and then go to the library; she'd never varied. Before I realized my error, I had guided her across the busy campus and then five intersections to her front stoop, nearly six blocks from the school.

_Idiot._

"I'm not doing anything inconvenient. I must have talked you to sleep and you were sleepwalking the whole way." I turned back towards the University. "Shall we?"

We were silent for a moment as I reprimanded myself for such an oversight. The quickening of Bella's heart caught my attention and I realized that she was probably embarrassed, thinking that she caused all this extra walking. She'd never let me carry her. Maybe just her oversized bag?

I spoke again, if only to help her awkwardness abate.

"Alice said you had dinner with them last night."

"Yes. It was lovely. Everyone had already finished by the time Alice and I wrapped it up at the library -- she's so _energetic _-- and so they warmed a plate for the two of us."

_Alice ate? I would love to hear how that went down…._

"As a matter of fact, my lunch is something Esme packed for me. She joked that the five of you never let her pack your lunches, and she was excited to have someone to make lunch for. She even put a tiny boxed drink in there. And some chocolate. Mmm, yummy."

She surprised me with her candor and kindness, especially in light of my reticence. To my exquisite delight, she hadn't quite finished. The next words were out before she could reconsider, a beacon in the foggy night of our acquaintance so far.

My very own green light at the end of the dock.

"You're very fortunate. I miss my mother. Not that I want Renee _here, _definitely not…I just miss seeing her regularly. And, being around your family, even just this little bit, has helped with my homesickness. So, um, thanks."

Conversation back in hand, I walked Miss Swan back towards the library, paying close attention to her words and making sure to ask more than once if we were headed the right direction.

* * *

_**A/N :**_ Edward is a fabulous narrator. Damned know-it-all. For obvious reasons, he can't tell Metaphysics -- where's the fun in knowing everything all at once? I write bits in his POV a lot -- to get his expressions and decide if a response is realistic. And because I'm hoping he'll take his shirt off and talk to me.

I might clean up and post more later.

Tell me if you like that idea....

Oh, and, I'm posting this now because Danni threatened me with a ruler if I didn't. I held out just long enough...


	2. Stolen Moment

As always, these characters and the Twilight Saga are the property of Stephenie Meyer.

The following is an outtake from my story, _Metaphysics_, written as part of the Fandom Gives Back: Eclipse fundraiser to benefit Alex's Lemonade Stand.

This is Edward's version of the events surrounding Chapter Five.

* * *

_It was difficult to pull my hand back, to stop myself from moving closer to her than I already was. A thousand different possibilities ran through my mind in an instant — a thousand different ways to touch her. _

_The tip of my finger tracing the shape of her lips._

_My palm cupping under her chin. _

_Pulling the clip from her hair and letting it spill out across my hand._

_My arms winding around her waist, holding her against the length of my body._

~Edward Cullen_, Midnight Sun_

* * *

Panic overtook me when I heard Bella's heart flutter indeterminately and her pulse become thready. It was a new feeling for me. In my year of self-imposed exile from her in Forks, I'd had to watch her endure scrapes and stumbles — I'd even watched in agony as Jacob Black earnestly pressed his suit with her. But somehow the slowing of the sound that had become the meter of my days and nights cut me to the heart in a way that defied logical explanation.

A long-dormant instinct to fight for air took over even as I reminded myself that I had no need of breathing. Well, I had no need of my own breathing.

The day she ceased to live, so would I. I knew my feelings would sound unreasonable and totally without foundation but I couldn't sit in front of her and pretend that this reminder of her mortality didn't upset me more than world hunger right now. My behavior would be a blatant tell.

So I ran for the car.

I didn't so much run for the car as I climbed the side of the Copelands' house in the cloudy twilight and hopped the rooftops like a character from Tim Burton's version of Mary Poppins before jumping down into the alley where we'd parked.

It wasn't helping my sanity that Alice's visions of Bella as an immortal had altered in the details but never in their final outcome. Bella was always smooth and hard, her heartbeat — the heartbeat I'd adopted as my own — silenced.

As a result of my unrest, I disobeyed too many human rules to count in the process of pulling the car up to the Copelands' front door. I would have Emmett come back later to get rid of the black skid marks that marred the old cobblestones where I came to an abrupt halt at the Copelands' steps.

Walking to the front door, I could hear her steady heartbeat again. But now, instead of skipping and stuttering, it hammered away. I'd only heard her heart run away like this before during her nightmares.

Was she afraid?

Oh, God. Had she figured me out? Was she afraid of me so soon?

I sneaked through the door in time to hear her shuffle some papers and slide back into the seat I'd pulled up for her.

She was afraid of _me!_

Not because she knew what I was but because she was hiding something from me. _This could be fun._

I changed tack immediately. My plan had been to take her home and watch from the roof as she recovered. But we weren't going back to her apartment…she would be coming to the Cullen residence. For Carlisle's "professional opinion," I would be sure to explain.

I examined her visually from head to toe. No obvious bulges in her pockets or under her jacket, she wasn't guarding another injury site, and no new smells drew my attention. We would at least make it out the door. "Your chariot awaits, Miss Swan."

But there was _more_ of a smell that I knew well. A smell in which I'd steeped all day, in fact, made a trail to her bag.

She'd lifted the letters we were here to read; they would fit in her bag without any added visible bulk.

Her cheeks pinked up under my examination. I would have to be more subtle…_later_ I would be more subtle. That blush was so lovely I might have to think of some way to prolong it for now.

"Your color is already beginning to come back. I should've made you eat both sandwiches instead of keeping mine."

That shade of red was so becoming on her, so distracting, and it continued to bloom. "Even better color. Esme is holding you a plate of supper. I am taking you to our house unless you object too strongly."

"I don't want to impose. You all don't have to entertain me just because I'm a fellow ex-pat."

_The imposition is all mine, Miss Swan._ "Alice knows you too well already. She said to tell you to please come to our home, it's no imposition…well, a less polished version of that."

"Did it begin with, 'get over yourself' or something along that line?"

"It did, in fact. You two are made for one another, I do believe. She can be overwhelming for new people. It's been lovely to watch her develop a friendship with someone so accepting of her. Not to mention that we all love having you around. It would have been nice to have done all this in Forks years ago."

I picked up her belongings, as much to torture her as to be of service. The words were out of my mouth before I could help myself. "Your bag is heavier than earlier."

I fought a canary-eating grin at her mumbled response.

"I took my scarf off and shoved it in there. Plus my phone and iPod are in there now."

Between the academic espionage and her near-syncopal episode, Bella's afternoon had been very stressful. I decided to drive at a slow pace on the way home, slow even by human standards, and help her relax.

A normal human man could put his arm around her shoulder, maybe even rub her neck if they were that kind of friends, but those options didn't exist for me. Touching her, even just to prevent her constant scrapes and falls, was carefully orchestrated. Even the most casual touch was a contrivance that I worried over.

I had to have my hands covered with mittens or make sure to touch only somewhere as forgettable as an elbow covered by a thick sweater.

Alice had either missed this particular event or chosen not to tell me about it, a feat she was accomplishing with increasing regularity now. She was keeping so much from me. I had no idea she could be so devious; surely it was exhausting for her.

At that moment, I was leaning towards Alice having _chosen_ not to tell me because she had also advised me to keep the CD of myself playing for Bella to hear.

Apparently, that wasn't only so Bella could get to know me because I derived some satisfaction from the experience as well.

Bella closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, her fingers tracing figure-eights on her legs in time with _Clair de Lune_ and _Liszt's Consolation._

The friction of the pads of her fingers in the denim was occasionally punctuated by the soft scrape of her fingernails across the uneven fabric. My peripheral vision was put to the test, watching the road as I fixated on the haphazard paths of her fingers.

That denim was fascinating.

After the first two songs on the CD, the rest were the most personal of my own compositions. I grew nervous as _Consolation_ drew to a close.

My ode to Carlisle and Esme was next, the version Alice liked that lacked "all the emo," as she so eloquently put it.

As the uncomplicated piece evolved, a smile slowly spread across Bella's angelic face. By the end of the song, I realized that my own expression mirrored hers.

It was too much to hope for that we would arrive home before the fourth song began. I braced myself for the possibility that she might hate it. Or feel nothing at all.

Bella's resting heart rate was usually sixty-three beats per minute when she was awake. It dropped to fifty-four during most of her sleeping hours. This song was for waking Bella, the Bella that I longed to spend time with, and her heartbeat soon settled into the cadence suggested by the music.

Life imitating art imitating life.

As the lighter melody wove its way through, her brow furrowed. I was puzzling this development out, staring at her as I had been for the last twenty minutes, when her eyes shot open and she caught me.

I could see two tiny versions of my face reflected in her eyes. My eyes betrayed my desperate emotional state: they were wild and dark and intense. I looked every inch of the creep that I felt myself to be.

_Show some concern about something real, jackass!_

"Are you really feeling better? I can call Carlisle and have him meet us at the hospital if you think you need to." Tempering my inquiry with a little misdirection made me feel like a fraud. It didn't stop me from threatening her with a hospital visit but it did make me feel guilty about doing it.

Bella was anxious to avoid a trip to the emergency department of a busy metropolitan hospital. "Please, no. I have been embarrassed enough for one day, I think. I was just kind of involved in this piece. I'm breathing normally again." She took a long breath in and then let it out. "See? Right as rain."

I couldn't help myself; I practically smirked at her heaving chest. There was nothing more right in my world. "Indeed."

"I really like this." She nodded towards the stereo display. "What is it?"

"Mostly some of my favorite pieces. Debussy, Beethoven, Liszt…." _Myself._

She wasn't satisfied. "The last two are lovely but I don't recognize them. This one is breaking my heart, could I hear it again?"

An invisible band around my chest tightened. Did it mean she liked it or hated it if it was heartbreaking? She _did _say "lovely." "I'll play it in the house. Let's get you something to eat."

I parked in my usual spot and walked around to her door to help her out, making a point of taking her heavy bag. Because she was paying close attention to her stolen goods, she managed to trip twice in the few feet between the car and the garage door.

"I won't plunder your belongings, I promise. If you don't remain upright, I will, however, put them down and carry you in."

I could already hear Alice and Esme; they could barely contain themselves faced with the bright and shining reality that I'd brought a female home. I was quickly running out of ways to say, "We're only here to study." The dozens of different phrasings in the two dozen languages they spoke were woefully insufficient.

…_She can't take her eyes off you long enough to walk inside, Romeo. I have Chianti breathing and Esme is plating lasagna for her. Or would she rather have some water? Or tea? I'll bring all three to the library. You're all set up to "study" in there…._

Even in her thoughts, Alice chuckled at the word "study."

I sighed in resignation and tried to keep up the appearance that I wasn't as thrilled as they were at having her under our roof.

Carefully avoiding the kitchen so that Bella wasn't accosted before she could sit down, I led her up the stairs to the library.

As we entered, we were treated to Alice's vision of overly-romanticized Gothic libraries in full bloom, if somewhat updated. A round-topped table had been set with a mint julep cup of garden roses, a pitcher of ice water and silver placed on a napkin. I knew the plate of food and red wine wouldn't be far behind.

Alice and Esme rushed in like ministering angels, inquiring after her head, wrapping her in that cursed cashmere throw that I wanted to keep with me constantly, and setting a plate of food that would feed a human Emmett's size in front of her.

I leaned against the doorjamb with Carlisle, trying my damnedest not to laugh.

"So, you think she'll be returning to Cullen Manor anytime in the near future? I'm afraid they are going to try to spoon-feed her like a baby as well."

Carlisle laughed at his own joke and I chuckled at the clear possibility that he might actually be right.

Bella looked at me, wide-eyed.

"I tried to warn you. Like magic, but not a ripple."

Carlisle walked over to her, his concerned presence dispersing the help like a drop of soap in oily water. "Good evening, Bella. How are you feeling?"

"I really am fine. I'm sorry for the scare, it wasn't a big deal."

"Tell me what happened, if you don't mind my asking."

She proceeded to assure him of her excellent health and said all the right things: she'd eaten; she didn't have a fever; she hadn't come in contact with anyone sick. If someone didn't know better, they might think she'd been through this before.

Carlisle wasn't really worried that she might be sick.

She still hadn't yet told me what her epiphany was and Carlisle and I were both anxious to hear her new thoughts. "Fair enough. You seem just fine now. So, what new revelation about long-dead poets could make a perfectly healthy young lady hyperventilate?"

Bella fixed the dirtiest glare on me. Virtual laser beams melted my face in her imagination, I had no doubt.

"I did _not_."

I shouldn't have enjoyed torturing her so. But the pink in her cheeks, the passion she possessed when she challenged me was…_sexy_. Candy I wasn't allowed to taste.

"You most certainly did. Now, answer the good doctor. _I'm_ intrigued. Still breathing normally, but intrigued nonetheless."

The possibility occurred to me that I might have pushed her too far.

…_Son, you are about to have one angry girl on your hands. I know heaving chests have a draw all their own but you might want to step the antagonism down a notch. She doesn't trust you enough to take your teasing well. _

He smiled at her and made sure his genuine interest in her day was evident on his face.

Why couldn't I be genuine like that? I wanted so badly for every conversation to go as well as our conversation in the University library. She hung on my every word. It was as if we had been sealed off from the rest of the world and she'd known I would never do anything deliberately unkind to her.

I could back us up so quickly with my smart mouth.

Predictably, she melted into a gooey puddle under Carlisle's warmth. I rolled my eyes at his cheek.

"Sophie's verses about innate goodness and redemption aren't simply poetry. The letters are replies to William's letters. The poems are replies to his as well. It can't be a coincidence that he's looking for forgiveness and goodness in an evil world and her verses are overflowing with both. She sees the nocturnal devices that he fills with malice as misunderstood and transformed in the daylight. He writes of desire and she of redemption. And, neither writes with a trace of cynicism.

"Everything _he_ wants _she_ has. To answer him so completely, she has to know why he wants it."

Carlisle wasn't exchanging air; he was too still, monstrously still. His thoughts were a pinball machine.

…_What has she seen, Edward? Does she have all Sophie's poems? Is there any hint that Sophie knew my secret in any of those letters? I never thought about her possibly needing to talk to someone about the werewolf...or anything else. What if she wrote to William about it? Surely she would've told me if she had…._

"I need to see her actual letters and read them in the context of his letters—my timeline seems more useful now. That could all be a reach. But if it's not…if it's not the implication is that William is either looking for redemption because of something he did or for reassurance because of an occurrence he learned of. Both cases seem to require a precipitating event to inspire such a mass of verse about so pointed a subject."

…_If she has gotten this far, Edward, think of what an immortal could piece together…._

Carlisle pulled himself together enough to be polite. "You _have_ had a breakthrough in your research today, haven't you? That's an ambitious endeavor, proving that an event or events occurred centuries ago. I might be overwhelmed at such a prospect myself. I'm glad I already have an occupation and can leave it to the two of you.

"Son, you may end up embarrassed if you're not on your game."

"Embarrassed" was an understatement.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

…_She needs something else to occupy her thoughts…._

"Bella, let me know if you decide you really aren't feeling well. As far as I'm concerned, I think you're right—you just inundated yourself with too much information at once, maybe got a little excited. It's always lovely to see you."

_Oh, well-played, Dr. Carlisle._

"And, dear?"

"Yes, sir?"

"It might help to remember that these events are centuries old. No one is in peril if you don't unravel Sophie's mysteries overnight. You're doing so much already by airing out her lovely verses. Pace yourself."

_A parting shot from the master. I should consider taking notes._

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen. That sounds like pretty solid advice. And, before I forget my manners completely — I'm always glad to see you. I'll try to do it without making you work on your day off next time."

"Carlisle, Bella. It's no trouble. Finding you here has been a happy coincidence for me, too — for all of us, I think. Good night."

I watched enviously as he patted her shoulder. He dealt with humans so effortlessly, as if we were all one big, happy family. He'd examined her earlier without a trace of worry, touching even her face.

Without company in the room as a buffer, I couldn't think of anything to say. We'd been alone all day and yet I was suddenly nervous.

In the short time since we'd relocated to London, I'd spent hours at the piano right behind me thinking of her, playing songs for her. To have her here, in this room was more than I could ask for.

I owed her a song but I didn't want her to watch me walk to the piano and sit down. She would surely have questions that I couldn't yet answer.

She hadn't touched her supper, I realized. Food was always distracting. I waited for her to pick up her fork before I moved and it didn't happen. "Is your food still warm? I can fix it if it's not."

She smiled and put a forkful to her lips. Her eyes closed as she closed her mouth around it.

I forced myself to look away but it couldn't erase the sound of her lips sliding across the silver or the moan that followed. "I'll play that song while you finish eating. When you're done, we're hashing out your hypothesis, though."

That would certainly distract her long enough to let me begin.

I'd never played this with her actual heartbeat close enough to hear.

Contrary to what most humans think, a heartbeat isn't a single lub-dubbing sound; it is a predictable pattern of sounds as the blood enters and leaves the tireless muscle.

I waited for muted click of her atrioventricular valves, the beginning of the percussion track in my head. Technically, the mitral valve closes a few hundredths of a second before the tricuspid, so they made a quick, soft _badum._

Then, the aortic and pulmonary valves _swished_ open.

Blood in the atria slid gently to a stop uptream from the atrioventricular valves as the ventricles squeezed blood in a heavy _whoosh_ out of her heart.

The aortic and pulmonary valves closed with a sharper _click _and the atrioventricular valves opened.

Two rushes of blood as it filled her ventricles in early, then late, diastole.

And repeat.

_Badum sha-whoosh click. Badum sha-whoosh click._

That sound couldn't be reproduced and I despaired over the thought that it had to end one day, whether I got my wish or Alice got hers.

Bella did me the favor of closing her eyes and I watched her as I played. Just as the blood racing through her heart gave me a rhythm track, the intensity of my playing rose and fell with her breath.

For a few moments, a few stolen moments, we were a single organism.

So why did I feel like a parasite?

Bella's Lullaby had come to be after I waited outside her window, watching her toss and turn. Her sleepless nights had begun not long after the van incident – and my subsequent bad behavior – and so I felt responsible.

Because I was.

I wanted so badly to hold her warm hand, stroke her forehead, read to her from Austen or Shakespeare and help her go to sleep.

I wrote the Lullaby imagining that I could, one day, help her find a night's peace.

Months of one-way conversations were embodied in those notes and I wanted so desperately for her to hear their plea. It was as if I'd confessed all that to her by the time I finished playing, though I knew she was no more aware of my nighttime visits to her room in Forks (or London, for that matter) than she had been when I first touched the keys.

The last note hung in the air for a few moments and in those seconds I felt so bare, exposed as a lurker.

She was examining me and I knew she pieced together that I'd written the song I'd just played. I hadn't even bothered to put a sheet of music in front of me. Not that I could've written her Lullaby down.

It was not something I could let go beyond…_us._

I felt the words rising to my lips and I knew I had to leave, quickly.

_I love you. I've always loved you and now that I've had you near me so much, I can't bear to be separated from you ever again. Please don't leave._

_Because saying those things wouldn't sound creepy at all, _I deadpanned to myself.

I rose and lifted her wine glass on the way out the door.

"Your glass is empty, I'll be right back."

I couldn't help myself. Her hair hung in a satiny wave down the back of her chair. I skimmed my fingers over it as I shot from the room.

I could hear Alice. She wasn't in the house but she was nearby, keeping an eye on Bella's future. It was a safety net I appreciated.

…_You're doing so well. I'm not going to show you your night with her but I promise Bella is not in danger in what I see. I'll be close…._

I took a long pull of air that had almost no trace of Bella. It seemed stale without that sweet torture of her in it.

I splashed some of the wine into the sink before I headed back.

Remembering Carlisle's success with honeyed tones instead of vinegar, I spoke. "I didn't even ask. Could I interest you in another glass?"

Her answering voice was small. "Please."

I didn't want to give her a chance to interrogate me and I knew a solid offensive would be my best protection. _So long, honey-coated Edward._

She beat me to the punch. "You could've told me in the car."

"_You_ could've told _me_ in the library. Or the car."

"Touché, Mr. Cullen. So, that _was _yours, yes?" An admission! She was going to be hot!

I deflected. "I wrote it but it belongs to someone else. When are we going to return that box of letters, Miss Swan?"

"Tomor— what do you mean?"

And the gig was up.

He cheeks flamed and her chest rose and fell violently. I could certainly not play a lullaby to the rhythm her heart hammered out.

If she was only going to keep them one night, I could keep an eye on her here. "Tomorrow, you were about to say? If we are risking an entire night, I demand an equal share of the plunder in exchange for my equal risk of punishment."

She didn't see where I was headed but she seemed to be willing to acknowledge that I deserved some time with our contraband. "You want _half_ the letters?"

"No. Just equal access."

"I'll have them at my apartment; you can drive me home and then stay till you're done. How's that?"

_Too cramped._ "Not good enough."

"Okay, now you're just being greedy. Plus, there's nowhere for you to sleep in my tiny place."

I stifled a chuckle. That _would_ piss her off royally. "I was thinking of something significantly less scandalous."

"I wasn't suggesting—"

Her face would burst into flames soon if I didn't get to the point. "No, I didn't get the impression you were. I was just thinking that you staying _here _tonight would be a simple solution. Alice and Rose and Esme are bound to have just about anything you'd require. I think they have everything any woman would require for an overnight visit in any corner of the globe. You'd have a room of your own and we could work here undisturbed until we had to return them tomorrow afternoon.

"Esme assumed you were staying when she wrapped you up earlier and has already promised a lovely breakfast and a fluffy robe."

She wasn't answering. At least she was considering my offer. "How does that sound?"

I could hear Esme downstairs silently pleading with Bella to stay. Her thoughts echoed my own.

"Okay."

Every immortal in hearing range released a tense breath. "And, for the record, I'm not against 'borrowing' antique documents. But, next time, let me be the one engaging in questionably criminal activity. It makes me uncomfortable to push my dirty work off on someone so…pristine."

"The way you say 'pristine' is almost insulting. I just cut a fairly significant corner, especially for a police chief's daughter. That's far from above reproach."

She had a valid point.

She leaned forward in her chair, as if she had a secret to tell me. With one eyebrow raised, she challenged me in a husky voice. "You don't know what I am or am not capable of. You and I are just getting reacquainted, Mr. Cullen. Any number of awful things could have occurred in your absence."

I was almost speechless. "Forgive my impertinence, I'll have to update your dossier."

She smiled and I considered our agreement settled. "So, now that we are officially partners in crime, let's plot some criminal activity."

I wondered briefly what her thoughts were on handcuffs.

Our evening was exactly the one in Alice's vision after Bella visited, except for the fact that it was happening under my own roof. I considered it an upgrade, all things considered.

For no obvious reason, Bella's heart rate began to pick up so I figured she must be onto something.

"Do you have the letter that talks about her garden?"

I didn't see what the excitement was about but I went along with her. "There's more than one in this pile — which one do you need?"

"Hmm. Now I don't remember…may I?" She pointed at the letters that I'd been working on. I didn't think Bella was dim enough to overlook my putting them all in actual chronological order, but I was hoping she wouldn't notice that I'd pulled Carlisle's letters and put them in date order mixed in with the rest as camouflage. I'd pulled out their edges ever-so-slightly.

"I'll be quick, I promise."

"Now who's being greedy?"

Her heart tapped out a staccato beat and I got worried she might pass out. A repeat of this afternoon was not something I intended to allow on my watch.

"You must really be onto something."

She looked irritated but the distraction helped her vitals.

"I don't know. I'm not too anxious to embarrass myself again, so give me a minute."

I waited, watching her as I pretended to look at something else.

She huffed in frustration. "Here it is…no not the same flowers. I noticed her fascination with gentians and I couldn't remember what blossom she used in this verse, I was hoping they might be indicative of something…not the same. What do _you _think?"

Bella held the letter out and leaned forward. The neckline of her t-shirt fell open and I could see to her bellybutton. Of course, I wasn't looking at her navel, I was looking at the dark red lace platter and the two breasts it offered for my delectation.

_That_ had been under her t-shirt all day?

What did she have on under her jeans?

"She only mentions gentians in this letter." She threw the damned cashmere throw back and leaned forward in an inescapable haze of scent. I was in its vice-like grip before I had the opportunity to evade it.

Venom pooled in my mouth. And…elsewhere.

…_Run, Edward! You don't have time to offer an explanation, just go. You can't hesitate! I'm trying to get to you but don't wait for me! Run!_

Alice didn't have time to edit for my benefit and so she screamed her thoughts at me. She saw me lean forward, dragging my nose up the path of Bella's carotid from the base of her neck to behind her ear, breathing in that exquisite scent one last time. My eyes were black as pitch, as dark as my iniquity.

Bella arched her neck back and moaned as I buried my teeth in the blushing flesh just above her collarbone.

_No!_

"I…_um_…pajamas."

And I ran. I ran out the door until the only things I could smell were sewage and strangers and the dirty Thames.

All I heard as I shot out the door to the hallway was Alice asking Bella, "Would you like to change? Esme said you'd be staying here tonight!"

Alice was waiting for me outside when I dared approach the house again.

"Edward, I'm so sorry. I don't know how I didn't see that coming—"

I cut her off. "No reason to apologize. Sometimes people change course without a lot of forethought. It wasn't the first time and it certainly won't be the last time. I can't rely on you if I want to be alone with Bella. I either need to get a handle on this or hang it up."

"Don't be so fatalistic; I can see where this is headed."

Only Alice could mean that literally.

"Her existence is worth a thousand of mine. It seems as if I was sleepwalking through this life before she stepped into that tiny classroom. And now…I don't know if I can find any meaning without her." I scrubbed my hands back and forth over my face in frustration.

"That's craziness. You help humans at every turn. It might not entirely offset the balance of evil done by the rest of our kind but it is something that wouldn't be here without you.

"Hell, just living around them establishes an area as ours. Our being in London might cause the mortality rate to drop. Your life has meaning on its own, not to mention how much you mean to this family."

"I can't justify throwing Bella in a tank full of sharks just to find out if your faith in me is well-founded.

"I'll give this another week. If something doesn't change, if I can't find a way to overcome these urges, I will leave again."

In Alice's vision, I hid from Bella again, like the scared child I was, and Bella stumbled through her days like a zombie.

"Enough."

Alice's thoughts and her words ran the same vein but she was angry enough that there were two diatribes aimed at me, one of which wasn't out loud. "You promised her, in the University library. You told her you regretted your actions in Forks, you wouldn't do it again and asked her to forgive you. You _might _hurt her if you stay. You will _kill_ her if you leave."

"That was before this setback. What would have happened if you hadn't seen that coming? I would have come to my senses on the other side of drinking her dry only to have to end my own life."

I saw Carlisle's memory of Sophie at Allesworth, as clearly as if it were my own.

As clearly as if it were happening now. It wasn't hard to place Bella's face over Sophie's, to see Bella wipe the tears from her face with her own dark mane of hair. I could hear her whisper my name instead of Carlisle's, begging me to stay.

I didn't know if I had the strength to leave Bella like that, feeling the way I did for her. Carlisle had possessed the emotional distance to do the right thing. I had no such luxury.

My soul was too wrapped up in Bella's to pretend that, even if I hid from her, my life wouldn't end when hers did.

Rather than leaving her in safety, it looked as if I would only be able to stay and fight off danger. It was pathetic really, a black prince masquerading as a white knight.

Alice had one more trick up her sleeve.

…_I swore I wouldn't resort to this…._

Alice showed me a memory of a vision. I saw Bella in a blue silk evening gown, standing beside the indoor pool at Allesworth. Stars twinkled beyond the glass ceiling. She slid one spaghetti strap over her shoulder, then the other. Her arms hugged her chest and held the whisper of a dress on her frame.

I was sitting in front of her, stunned to silence.

Bella slowly unwrapped her arms and the silk hissed a warning as it began to descend.

I growled.

"It will happen. Or, at least, it was going to until this evening. If you don't run off, Bella will go with us, unharmed, to Allesworth. And that trip isn't for another six weeks.

"Surely _that_ is worth waiting six weeks for?"

I turned on my heel without answering her. I didn't have to. Blue silk-clad Bella reappeared in Alice's version of our "research trip" to Allesworth.

Alice squeaked in excitement.

I turned to ask her a question before I went back to Bella. "What would—"

…_Don't ask silly questions. She was wearing it and that's the important part. Her robe is in the foyer. Take it up to her…._

When she put it like that, I realized that I didn't care why Bella had on an evening gown for "research."

I rapped lightly on her door. "Bella, I have your robe. I can leave—"

Quick steps towards me were abruptly ended with a violent thud and the crunch of bones. Bella swore loudly. It sounded like she knocked her foot but with Bella, injuries escalated quickly.

I burst through the door without waiting for her permission.

As I entered, it occurred to me that she might be unclothed or barely clothed or otherwise indisposed to company.

I turned my face but I could tell from my peripheral vision that she was dressed. "I'm sorry. I heard…and I thought you might need something."

"No. It's fine. Thanks. I knocked the sh…enanigans out of my toes."

"'Shenanigans'? No need to bother editing now, not on my account."

She blushed and I wanted to write Alice a thank-you note for choosing that particular shade of blue. The fabric looked so soft; the whole package was entirely touchable.

"Your robe, madam." I wanted badly to wrap her in the cashmere but I settled for holding the garment out as she slid her arms in the sleeves. "Esme made you a mocha. I told her I'd never seen you drink anything espresso-based, but she sent it up anyway. I think she knows we're pulling an all-nighter."

"_All_-nighter?"

"Backing down so soon? I'm disappointed, Bella."

"I shouldn't have downed all that wine and pasta. I'm getting sleepy already."

I made a silent plea for her to stay awake with me for just a little while longer. Academically, I understood that humans needed sleep. But all I really wanted was more time with her because one day in the frighteningly near future, she would figure this out and run…far and fast. When that sad day came, I would hoard the memory of each second we were together like a lonely old miser, left only with his money to caress. So I begged the caffeinated drink to do the trick and prop her up for another hour or two. I would make sure she slept eventually.

"You can take a nap…or you can down this mocha. Your call." She couldn't step away from a challenge, especially not one I issued.

"Oh, it's the mocha all the way. You've thrown down the gauntlet."

_That's my girl!_ "That's what I thought."

For the eighteenth time in the course of ten minutes, Bella's eyes began to stare without focus. She was torturing herself to try and keep up with me. She rolled her neck and tried once again to read the notes in her hand.

Teasing her into staying awake was cruel of me.

"So, should we call it? Time of death, two—"

She shook her head, making up in vigor what she lacked in coordination as her head flopped wildly atop her neck.

"No? You can barely shake your head. You're exhausted; we should go to bed."

At the mention of the word "bed," we both smirked. I couldn't let the joke go unmade.

"Now, what fun would _that _be if you were too exhausted to even laugh at me? None at all." I sighed in not-so-faux disappointment.

She raised an eyebrow and stared at me blankly, as if she wasn't sure that her tired brain was processing the exchange correctly. In her defense, entendres were not the tack our conversations normally took.

Maybe someday we could change that.

"And don't look so shocked, I know what an innuendo is. Your brain is the one that's too shot to even form words. Come on."

"I wanna sleep but I keep thinking I'm overlooking something…." She barely finished her sentence before she was yawning again.

"Like Carlisle said, these people are long buried, there's no rush. We've got weeks before the Copelands toss us out for good. You are doing yourself no good."

"Speak for yourself, buddy."

"I'm not the one who can't even hold her head up."

Her façade slipped. "You win. My muscles are a knotted mess, I'm going to be so sore tomorrow, and my toes are already throbbing."

Watching her nod off, I'd been afraid I would have to carry her to bed soon. I'd warmed my hands with a mug of hot chocolate and now I put the mug aside, ecstatic that I would get to use my warmed hands on something even better.

"Let me see…." I gestured for her to prop her foot up on my leg. I'd been looking for a reason to ask about her toes without putting her on the defensive. She'd just made my job so much easier.

Lazily, she propped her ankle up.

"I'm going to have to take this off to actually see your foot, Bella."

She was too exhausted to do it herself, so I gingerly pulled the knitted boot off Bella's foot. The slide of the yarn traveling down her leg made me remember Alice's vision of the silk and the sound it made as Bella prepared to let it drop.

I heard the yarn warning me with the friction of whispered protest as it slid down her leg. My bare hands on her skin were something I'd daydreamed about.

One particularly desperate night, I'd tucked her hair behind her ears and my fingers had skimmed over warm skin along the way. It was maybe an inch and a half of flesh but it was all of her that I'd ever hoped to caress.

Now I recognized it as a trespass, a first I wished I could take back because this one, however illicit it _felt,_ was with her full consent.

As I took the bootie off, I was careful not to touch her yet. My fingers hummed in anticipation and my heart lurched.

I was afraid.

Bella's heart rate accelerated and it dawned on me that she might be nervous as well. And then I remembered the point of the whole exercise to begin with: she was hurt and I wanted to see how badly. I needed to get past my own concerns.

I picked up her foot the way a human might hold a wounded wild animal — concerned but cautious.

She arched her foot over, trying to protect the toes that hurt the most, so I saved them for last. Our comfort level with one another increased as I stroked and massaged my way from her heel, up her instep and across the pad of her foot.

Her foot relaxed.

I was nearing the sprained toes, but entirely lost in daydream, when Bella flinched. Her heart was pounding.

Immediately I stilled my hands. "Hey. Does that hurt too badly? Should I go get Carlisle? Or maybe an anti-inflammatory for now?"

She swallowed and shook her head.

The childlike motion made her look like a bobblehead doll; she was a sleep-deprived zombie.

I began gently rubbing her foot, not to diagnose but to calm her. She needed rest and I was determined to help her along. It didn't take long for her head to sway and I cradled her neck in my hand.

It was all I could do to put her in her own bed and tuck the covers around her. Once I'd picked her up to carry her to bed, I didn't want to let her go. I walked slowly to her room; I would've claimed it was to avoid waking her had someone asked.

I could have held her that way until dawn. Or at least until she woke up the first time, at which point I could pretend to just be carrying her to bed since we both fell asleep in the library.

But I'd sworn off subterfuge where Bella was concerned and if this evening — and Alice's vision of Allesworth — were any indicator of the future, I'd have more physical contact with my Bella.

Contact that she wanted, not that I'd taken.

I slid the bootie off her other foot and wrapped her in her blanket before I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Good night, Bella."

She clutched sleepily at my arm.

"Wait."

She fought sleep like a child. "There's something more you want?"

She shocked me by asking, "Why aren't we friends? I think we should be."

I shocked myself even more by holding firmly to my new policy of truth. _"Never again is what you swore, the time before," Mr. Cullen._

I exhaled heavily and answered. "Bella, I am not a good friend for you but I won't pretend anymore like I don't want to be your friend. Like I haven't always wanted to be your friend."

Her response was heartrending in its honesty. "You did?"

_Oh, Bella, what do you think of me? What kind of monster am I? _"Of course, I did. Didn't I make that plain today?"

"So, what'd I do to keep you away? I wanted to be friends. Really. I know I was sarcastic, but you always made me so damned mad. You still do, kinda. I think you do it on purpose."

She was, once again, right on target. "I wish I could undo that, erase my regrettable conduct from your memory. But, what's done is done. I won't make you regret being friends with me now, I promise."

"I'm thinking about making you write that down."

I smiled at her joke at my expense. "Probably a wise move on your part."

Her scowl corrected that mistaken impression; she was not joking. "Now, will you please sleep? You won't even remember this exchange in the morning."

"You never do, Bella Swan. You never do." How many times had I calmed her after a wolf dream? How many nights had I hummed to her or recited cummings or that poem of Carlisle's to Sophie that she loved so much?

My heart swelled at the prospect of doing those things for a Bella that might remember. For a Bella that might _want _to remember.

"Yes, I will — you're going to write it down."

"If you sleep, I will write it down."

She propped herself up on her elbows.

"Something else."

She had almost no inhibitions while she was so sleepy; I was afraid of what her "something else" might be.

"Bella, can't it wait? I'll be here tomorrow, I swear — I am two doors down and I'm not leaving tonight."

"That's just it. It won't be tonight, probably, but it _will _happen sometime — you're always in the process of communicating a farewell to me. So, I will do this while I'm punch-drunk and brave."

_How could she know that? Am I really that transparent?_

"Why hadn't you touched me before tonight? Why had I never felt your fingers before that?"

_I have touched you before…just not so deliberately. Or with your permission._

Maybe _I_ could do better.

"I've picked you up and dusted you off more than once, Miss Swan. I've touched you. It must not have been too memorable — what did you say, 'you give it more weight than it deserves by simply mentioning it'? Why are you assigning such weight to my making sure you were uninjured? Again."

_Never again is what you swore._

"You think I wouldn't rem…you didn't…stop toying with me."

Her heart was pounding; she clearly recognized the event's significance. "My fingers were on your skin. You felt them. Do I really need to elaborate?"

Her reaction confounded me; she smiled. Why would the memory of my fingers on her soft skin be a fond memory?

She wouldn't let the subject go. "When you say it like that, no. But I'm sure we're not communicating on the same level. We never do. Tell me why you've never touched your skin to mine. I promise I'll go to sleep if you do, cross my heart."

Clearly, we weren't communicating at all. I needed to tell her something true.

"I just didn't for so long…even though I wanted to…and then it occurred to me that if I did, I would be so conscious of it, your skin would sear me like a brand. Things this evening were so relaxed — today's been a high water mark for us, I think — that I decided to get it over with, to touch you in a controlled setting.

"Because, if I was right about how I'd react, being overwhelmed in front of strangers wouldn't be a great idea. Or, what if you really hurt yourself and I was so wrapped up in taking care of a real injury that I didn't get to even think about it?"

Though I could go hours, eternity even, without taking a breath, I felt suddenly winded.

A strange expression came to Bella's face, one I'd never seen there before. It wasn't quite determination…it was almost as if she intended to challenge me.

And then she began touching my arm. With her heated fingers, she traced indecipherable hieroglyphs up and down my arm. She swept up with the back of her nails and down using the soft pads of her fingers.

The feeling was…unimaginably decadent.

Bella's whispered voice was the commentary for my reverie. "There are no strangers here. No blood has been spilled so, for once, I don't need rushing to a hospital…what's the verdict?"

_Guilty._

"You can't imagine how that feels."

Her hand stilled. "I can…I think. Help me."

It was a slippery slope, touching Bella. Where would I draw the line once I started? I had no frame of reference for this. I'd barely touched an immortal woman, much less one so fragile.

I was operating with no back-up plan and deathly afraid of the consequences.

Recklessly, I put my fingers on her forearm, rocking them back and forth, writing a declaration, transcribing a Neruda poem into her fragile flesh so that if I never got the chance to say the words aloud, they were part of her anyway.

_**I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.  
I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.  
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.**_

Of course, I wasn't satisfied with just my chaste little gesture…I wanted more. She was just so sleepy. I didn't want her to wake up in the morning wondering why she'd let such a cretin put his hands on her unnecessarily.

I stilled my fingers but they remained anchored to her.

_Let her sleep, Edward._

I began to pry my fingers from her, lifting them slightly though not losing contact, when she snorted her irritation. It was all the reason I needed to continue.

Rather than just rock them back and forth, I began sliding them over her forearm, tracing the winding paths of veins and the straight ones of tendons. I memorized the placement of every scar and beautiful imperfection, stockpiling memories for the inevitable. I ran my hand up and down her arm from her fingertip to the inside of her elbow until I heard the steady breathing of sleep.

I took her hand in mine, brought it to my lips, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

After pulling her sleeve back down, I tucked her in.

"'M not asleep."

I leaned forward and whispered, "Sleep, Bella. It will make my job so much easier. I will never leave you alone if you won't make me."

I had no idea at the time that my words were a promise, not the warning I'd hoped them to be.

* * *

**My darling Clementine worked harder on this outtake than I did: thank you for organizing the team, making my sloppy files presentable and sending this out. Oh, yeah, and just a bit of editing too…. I wish I could write you a volume of poetry to make Neruda blush.**

**Thank you, Ruby (Nano Annis on Twi/FF), for pre-reading. You peeked behind the curtain and didn't even gasp at the mess! I'm sure you see your contribution. I declined to give your contact information to the gentleman we shortchanged. He says he'll be in touch...**

_Metaphysics_ has been nominated for a Rare Gem Award. I've posted the link on my profile. Please go check them out, so many of your favorites are probably nominated.


	3. Disappointed, Not Ruined

As always, these characters and the Twilight Saga are the property of Stephenie Meyer.

The following is an outtake from my story, _Metaphysics_, written as part of the Fandom Gives Back: Eclipse fundraiser to benefit Alex's Lemonade Stand.

This is Sophie's version of Chapter Twelve.

* * *

_I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do?_  
_ANS. Like, and dislike ye._  
_I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do?_  
_ANS. Stroke ye, to strike ye._  
_I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do?_  
_ANS. Love will be-fool ye._  
_I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do?_  
_ANS. Heat ye, to cool ye._  
_I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do?_  
_ANS. Love, gifts will send ye._  
_I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do?_  
_ANS. Stock ye, to spend ye._  
_I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do?_  
_ANS. Love will fulfil ye._  
_I bring ye love. QUES. What will love do?_  
_ANS. Kiss ye, to kill ye._

_~Robert Herrick," Upon Love: By Way of Question and Answer"_

* * *

Knowing Carlisle would be at the salon did nothing to incline me towards punctuality.

It was childish and spiteful and any number of other unattractive qualities I should've long since grown past but it was my instinct to torture him. His earnest demeanor in the face of my petulance only fanned the spark of mischief.

My entrance was neither subtle nor timely. I took an offered glass of wine and settled myself in the open seat closest to Mister Cullen just in time to hear the bore next to him lament over England's monarch.

_Yes, Monsieur, the King of England has no sense of his own. But _you _can't express a political opinion or select a cask of wine without pointed instruction. The sole difference lies in the fact that your indecision results only in the unhappiness of your family and friends and livestock._

Finally he put a merciful end to his laughable diatribe. "He learned nothing from his father and he is so influenced by the friends of his wife."

How many Frenchman could that statement also describe? I knew for a fact that this man had gotten himself mixed up with a group whose ideas bordered on revolution, even treason. And as far as being cuckolded, well, he needn't look past his own home to find a suitable example of a manipulative mate.

I refused to address the obvious hypocrisy of his statement and chose instead to comment on the chasm separating the morals of commoners and their indulgent absence in the case of royalty. "Then he should choose his friends with greater discretion. Why should the principles that apply to all of us not apply to the monarchy as well? Newton established that gravitational force is a constant, and we can see that it applies equally to insects and elephants, why cannot the same be true of moral principles?

"Of course such rules must apply to us all."

With that, the conversation broke and Carlisle retreated the balcony for a drink.

Were my childish musings suddenly too much for him to bear? I had pushed too far, again.

I followed Carlisle out on to the balcony, as much to put his drink to good use as to make amends.

He had stationed himself like a sentry in the corner, examining the grounds with obvious disapproval. Something about this gathering wasn't sitting well with him and I couldn't imagine that irritation wasn't at least partially my fault. I had been less than kind to him when he'd arrived at the masque.

Worse than unkind, I'd been openly hostile when I saw him enter.

But who was he trying to fool? Surely not me. Who else would've hovered at my window? I could smell him on the dress that he'd climbed over to check on me.

If I hadn't known better than to believe such drabble, I would have been forced to think that he wore the dress slung across the chair, it smelled so like an apothecary shop.

That same earthy-sweet scent danced in the air on the balcony. "Mister Cullen."

I gave him polite curtsy, careful not to overdo it lest he think I mocked him.

"Lovely to see you again, Miss Copeland. It is quite cold, are you certain you wouldn't like to go back inside?"

Carlisle, will you never learn? Those types of pointed suggestions only influence gullible humans. I arched an eyebrow at him.

"Yes. I am quite certain." To further evidence my intent, I picked up his wine glass without asking permission and put it to my own lips. He'd already poured half of it out.

_I picked up Carlisle's untouched glass of the expensive experiment in viticulture. "You seem to think it is a toy rather than something to be consumed."_

_A lush voice I didn't recognize responded from behind me, "He does have that tendency."_

I shivered at the memory of meeting Monsieur de Villiers, for more than one reason. He comported himself like a common rake and I should have forgotten him as soon as the introduction was over.

My fondness for a man usually lasted through a ball or two. After that, something unreasonable would pass his lips or I would hear of his recent debts that required him to find a wife of means and the feeling would fade quickly.

That evening, before he even spoke to Carlisle, in tones only just too low for me to understand, I felt my focus shift. Even hearing myself describe it I am not convinced that I was not temporarily insane. Whatever the reason, I felt an overwhelming desire — for what I could not say.

As quickly as I noticed it, the sensation had ebbed and there was nothing but Carlisle again.

I turned my attention back to Carlisle's questions, whether or not it belonged there.

"Of course. How has your visit been?"

He wouldn't simply ask whatever it was that he wanted to know. We were going to do this endless dance of words where I told him very little of what he wished to learn and volumes more than I needed to reveal about something else. "My family has been most hospitable and they've used my visit as an excuse for more parties than a month of fasting in sackcloth would undo. They think I am in need of a gentleman to distract me from some imagined duty to William and so they are throwing me in to the path of every gentleman in Paris.

"I don't know another way to say 'no' so I am just enjoying the food and the company." I had to stop talking about myself. I didn't want to speak about the political debate wearing on inside. I hadn't been able to get my hands on anything to read but gossip papers since we left Paris. I was out of scintillating subjects to discuss.

I resorted to the trite. "How has your visit been? Is your 'pet project' turning into a profitable use of your time?"

"It is always a pleasurable use of my time, if not profitable."

He paused, as if he were considering the possibility of talking about his business openly. As usual, he disappointed me on the subject. "But business is tedious…tell me about your writing. William showed me — very proudly, I might add — a poem you wrote before we parted ways. Was that a lark or are you very serious about writing more?"

I knew better than to assume William would keep something from Carlisle. It was so foolish of me. I shouldn't have shared that with anyone; I wouldn't make the same mistake again.

_Good heavens! _There could be no doubt now that I knew of his otherworldliness. I should never have thought I could share those words…never. "Uncle William showed you? Of course he did. I knew something drastic made you leave your nest. And I knew better than to send it to him. I just didn't have anyone else….

"What did he make of it?"

If William read it, he would send me his thoughts. I didn't need Carlisle's account.

I needed a few seconds to consider the consequences of this.

I braced myself for the worst, though I had no inkling what that might be. Would I have to die for knowing and not doing something about it? I dismissed such a ridiculous notion immediately. What could _I _do? Turn him over to a priest? I wondered if I could take an oath of secrecy…_ex post facto._

"He thought it was beautiful and that you had already been jilted in Paris by some fickle Frenchman."

Was that a threat of some sort? No, Carlisle would never threaten me. It was but a drop of his fathomless depths of charm.

Regardless, he was here and I couldn't be used as his way to repurchase a place in Heaven. Indulgences were such Papal nonsense; surely he would know that I didn't believe some "pet project" or storm of good deeds could ensure one's eternal standing.

If Carlisle needed to be in Paris, I needed to be…elsewhere. Distance was the only protection I had from falling in love with him. If ever any two were star-crossed, it would be us.

_Romeo and Juliet_ would be a comedy in more than name compared to us.

"No! That is…_amusing._ I wondered what he was going on about in his last few letters. He thinks I am foisting myself upon Parisian society with greater determination than I gave London's. Well, I need to send him a letter so that he knows I am well and of good cheer. I can't have him worrying over me. Although, now that you are here, I might as well head back."

"Don't leave on my account. Warships could be in the Channel any day. London could be a battleground."

_Of course, I am leaving on your account, Carlisle. I lack the will to keep my heart safe from you unless it is materially absent from your supernatural pull. _

Not saying so out loud seemed the wiser course so I said nothing.

He finally admitted, "I'll only follow you if you do something so risky."

I exhaled in frustration and my shoulders slumped in defeat. "Carlisle. Please. I don't understand all this concern over my welfare. Why me, why now? Why could not my parents have been saved years ago instead of you hovering over me now? It seems so unfair.

"What makes my life worth more than theirs?"

I forced my mouth closed with a ferocity bordering on violent. No good could come of this.

So why could I not just turn on my heel and leave?

"I can't answer that for you. All I can say is that what happened to your parents was a tragedy and I know you are worth whatever it takes to secure your health and happiness. They weren't worth less than you; they were just in the wrong place at the wrong moment. I would imagine that they would want you to have a long, healthy, happy life. Give them that. Don't be unhappy because you feel guilty that they aren't here."

And that was why I always said too much to Carlisle Cullen: because he understood life better than I did. He'd never met my parents and yet his words rang as true as if they were spoken by my own father. I melted under his suddenly too-warm gaze.

"That is very kind of you. What do you think would make my parents happy to see me do?"

"I didn't know them but I would imagine the same things that make all parents happy — for you to have a family of your own and pursue something you love."

The chemist I frequented before Carlisle came to town was a crotchety old man whose sharp tongue gave him a reputation far and wide. I adored him.

He had a gift of understanding that made me open up to him as I had Carlisle.

Dropsy confined him to bed for the weeks leading up to his death and I brought him soup every day. Two days before he passed, he knew a young man had stopped me outside his door and asked to escort me to some insignificant outing I was looking to avoid. But he was handsome and I agreed.

My aged friend must have disapproved.

"A wise old man once told me not to marry a man if I felt I was smarter than he was. He said that it would be hard enough to subject myself to the wishes of a man, much less one that I knew better than."

I wanted to tell Carlisle how much he reminded me of my old friend but I couldn't form the words and at the same time successfully fight off the sobs gathering in my chest. I turned my face from him. Looking at him was a worthless pursuit since the tears made my vision hazy.

"That certainly narrows the field but it doesn't mean he wasn't on the mark."

"I was very interested in a handsome young man at the time and I think he was trying to dissuade me from the attachment. His judgment was certainly better than my own."

I couldn't blink them back any longer and was too stubborn to simply wipe the tears from my eyes. The hot trail down my cheek became icy after but a moment's exposure. "Tears are a sure way to clear a room — or a balcony, in this case — of masculine company. I am a mess and I cannot account for my motive in coming here tonight. Sorry to thrust them upon you to be dealt with."

Carlisle was not as uncomfortable as I'd thought he might be. To my surprise he seemed fascinated by my crying. "You owe me no explanation, Miss Copeland. And you have earned the right to a few tears."

I wiped my face like a petulant child trying to erase the evidence of a tantrum. "I am afraid that my recent fits of…_temper_ obligate me. The idea of something akin to my life back home was obviously appealing and I did so want to see a familiar face, your face, this evening. But I didn't mean to subject you to my melancholy."

For a moment, neither of us spoke and, in the face of such dense silence, something occurred to me. We had no audience.

Not a servant or a chaperone or even a child running about could witness this exchange.

Through the glass behind me, we were visible when we first walked outside. In this corner, we would be hard to see, especially from the well-lit room beyond the glass.

My stomach churned as I considered bringing up the subject of Carlisle's fall from grace. Could he talk about it? Would he? I wanted so desperately to know what had brought him to this point. How had been silent on the subject for so long?

For that matter, how long had he been silent?

And why did I deserve his watchfulness while my family drowned unguarded? Fate was not only arbitrary, she was cruel.

Because now, no matter how much I resented Carlisle, I found myself falling under his spell, drowning in the idea of saving him.

My lack of interest in men suitable for marrying frightened me. What could one expect of a life with Carlisle? I had no idea. Would I be eternally damned just for my association with him?

I had to talk to him, to find out what I could expect.

"I am beginning to realize that you shouldn't be held accountable for my recent crisis over divine justice, no matter how relevant your—"

Carlisle closed the gap separating the two of us with uncommon speed. His sudden movement startled me and I lost my barely-formed thought mid-sentence. His cold, ungloved hands settled into the hair behind my ears and his thumbs swept from the bridge of my nose out to my cheekbones. I shivered.

What was he doing?

I was not yet facing him but I knew that, with the least provocation, the slightest hint of direction, I would move any way he wished. The primal draw towards his dark friend had been a nameless want, something shaded and mysterious. It was fearful in its absolute uncertainty.

On the other end of the spectrum, I'd stretched and grown towards Carlisle like a shaded plant towards the nearest sunlight since his arrival in my life. On the blackened balcony, I wanted to cling to him.

Instead, I clung to the railing as my tiny universe seized.

When he leaned, I leaned into his hand until I was almost facing him. I could see through the glass again and not a soul inside had noticed us out here.

Carlisle dipped his head toward mine and I felt my entire world tilt, its contents scattered. I wanted this so much and yet…it had the wrong connotation. Something about this vignette felt askew.

I heard Robert Herrick in my mind. _I bring you love. What will love do?_

I looked at Carlisle's face, searching his eyes for some answer and he looked afraid. He wasn't simply uncertain, wondering about the consequences of whatever happened. He was frightened by this conversation.

I opened my mouth to ask why when he moved a cold finger over my barely parted lips. Instinctively, they prepared to kiss his stony flesh.

My own flesh was mutinous where Carlisle was concerned.

Carlisle leaned in — to kiss me back, I mistakenly assumed — and my spine began to arch into him. My body responded without instruction. More mutiny.

And in my mind, Herrick answered. _Kiss ye, to kill ye._

Whether he was supporting the mutiny or trying to quash it, I couldn't discern.

Instead of lowering his mouth to mine, Carlisle brought his lips close enough to my neck that I felt his chilly breath. His nose barely brushed against my fleshy earlobe. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of my hair.

I was torn. Some game was afoot; whether it was simply Carlisle deciding if he could let himself ruin me on a balcony like some cliché, or something more sinister, I had no idea. But my own feelings were fairly transparent, no doubt, and I didn't want to make this situation worse.

I railed against my desire to escalate it.

Had I wanted to, I still couldn't speak well with Carlisle's finger over my mouth.

_He doesn't want you to speak, Sophia Claire. Someone is listening…maybe on the balcony above? _

At what point had Carlisle noticed them? Before or after he leaned his mouth towards mine?

I was frozen in place when he pulled himself away from me long enough to look me in the eye. I thought frantically of a way to tell him all was well. My lips moved in silent words under his finger but I knew he couldn't read them.

As slowly as I could, I brought my head forward and closed my eyes. Each day I performed this action a dozen times or more — to pray, to curtsy, to agree. My submission to whatever he needed for the time being must have been in there somewhere.

It was. He began to extract his hands from my hair and I relaxed.

Immediately I wanted to take it back. If I looked as if I might scream, would he put his mouth over mine to make me silent once again? The careful act of removing his hand from my hair felt like a caress. I'd been touched by servants and hairdressers, received bracing hugs from William when one of us had a bad day. But I'd never been touched simply for the sake of being felt beneath someone's hand.

Every person whose touch I remembered touched me because they had a reason to. Clearly, Carlisle had a reason as well, but the masquerade that he was doing it for pleasure was convincing enough for me to ponder how muddled his intentions were.

"Muddled" didn't begin to describe my intentions.

This was not the time for my probing, however. Poor Carlisle looked as if he might run. I searched for a subject to fill the aching silence.

My head swam; I needed a glass of port. "Again, Mr. Cullen, I should know better than to thrust my unhappiness on the first willing ear it finds. Could I impose on you in another, more appropriate, way, perhaps?"

"Of course."

"I am going to write William about my silliness. Perhaps you could see that the letter is taken to post tomorrow? Could I expect you after tea?"

"It would be my privilege, Miss Copeland. Can I get you something warm to drink, maybe?"

"Please. I've gotten a chill out here." I wouldn't be partaking of tepid lemonade with the other ladies on this night.

When we stepped back through the glass doors, I noticed that his eyes were entirely black, as if a piece of the darkness outside had followed us in.

I discarded ten drafts before I was satisfied. The first three began, "Dear Carlisle," but I decided against that. I'd written a poem but that seemed too circumspect.

My verse about the weed along the garden path would have to wait for a later exchange; he might simply forward it to William.

Half a dozen other hurried poems and scraps of verse littered the paneled cave between my room and the library.

The Robert Herrick poem — the question and answers on love — and the library beyond my little tunnel, evoked a scene so vivid that it was on the page before me in a flash.

_**As upon the hearth, the buck of maidens desire resides.  
A glance from page to paramour  
Droppeth mine pulse and life's wind, yet he  
Like glacial valley streams, locked an age  
Unmoving, unchanging  
Like God's finger resting, stilling time  
Rise and fall of life's cavity, surely vacant.  
Wherein does thy strength dwell?  
Fear and mercy mingling, doth a heart beat for me?  
Doth a pulse allegro in yearning like mine for thee?  
Crowned in celestial glory  
Set apart.  
'Tis Herrick quotes thee true "Kiss ye, to kill ye."**_

That poem would certainly not be making its way to Mr. Cullen. I might as well tell him I'd await him in the library naked. Instead, I sealed the eleventh draft before I could obsess over it more.

_My dear Uncle William, _

_I am beginning to realize that you shouldn't be held accountable for my recent crisis over divine justice, no matter how relevant your existence is to the matter. That our lives have been thrown together is a conspiracy of coincidence, someone being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as you said._

_It has bothered me for years that I have had my life to live, under your generous protection, while they lost theirs. Who should have been their protector? How could he have failed them so?_

_My distress has been directed at you, a sad irony, when I should be nothing but thankful for your presence. I am sorry. Could we make amends, maybe try to get to know one another as adults? _

_Anxiously awaiting your response, whatever it is,_

_Sophie_

I could think of no other means to wipe the slate clean with Carlisle. If he misunderstood and sent this letter on to William, so be it. But I hoped fervently that I could start anew with Carlisle; I'd grown tired of running from him.

* * *

**My darling Clementine worked harder on this outtake than I did: thank you for organizing the team, making my sloppy files presentable and sending this out. Oh, yeah, and just a bit of editing too…. I wish I could write you a volume of poetry to make Neruda blush.**

**Thank you, Ruby (Nano Annis on Twi/FF), for pre-reading. You peeked behind the curtain and didn't even gasp at the mess! I'm sure you see your contribution. I declined to give your contact information to the gentleman we shortchanged. He says he'll be in touch.**

**Squalloogal wrote the poem in this outtake, I merely tinkered with it. She wrote it months ago and I've been looking for its home since that February night. And the Herrick is her influence as well…**_**it fit so nice, he said I could keep it.**_** For your boundless energy and the amazing contribution you made to this fundraiser, you deserve more than a byline in an Author's Note.**

Metaphysics has been nominated for a Rare Gem Award in the category of Most Surprising Plot Twist. I've added the link to my profile. The list of stories, authors and betas included many of my favorites, probably yours too. Please go check it out.


	4. La Petite Mort

La Petite Mort

By Anais Mark

Rating: M

We always knew something kinky connected Aro and Jane. Now our suspicions are confirmed. Canon-ish characters. A nearly stand-alone outtake of Metaphysics.

_**Author's Note:**_ By now everyone has figured out that I can't do this without significant admonition from my darling Clementine. However cheerful I am about suffering at her hand for my art, whipping me into shape is not a task for the faint of heart. She never is and for that, she has my undying adoration and gratitude. She will also be receiving handcuffs in the mail. Rawr.

This fandom never fails to amaze and inspire me. Thank you all for lifting me up again.

xo

6*9

A tingle, in truth barely more than tickling the outer layer of skin, shimmered and danced, animated the nacre of a pearl. It didn't take much to make such an exquisitely sensitive covering sing.

Aro knew every thought of every creature he touched as if he were downloading an encyclopedic file, the story of their life as told by them. Surprises were few and far between for him, as were the accompanying spirals of emotion. No intentions, however half-formed, were safe from his handshake.

But this anomaly, these sensational exchanges with his paramour, had become the sole source of enchantment in his extended existence. After so many years, events had begun to recycle themselves. In this twenty-first century, he was even forced into temporal conservation. So bourgeois…or proletariat…or whatever catchphrase indicated the masses this week.

He wanted to shift his weight, to add some needed friction to the mix, but knew even the slightest motion would draw eyes his way. Stoic, he continued to preside over a trial he cared nothing about. The Volturi listened and their esteemed guests watched while Aro's tormentor toyed with him remotely.

Not a piece of clothing lay strewn about. Not even a button had come undone but Aro felt himself coming a little closer to the edge than he should. He loved it, the exhilaration she teased and sometimes tore out of him. A quick check of the room revealed no attention directed at their game and he continued to ply the scared immortal before him with his usual intimidating charm. It oozed from his stony façade, water that would never quench.

The proceedings dragged on interminably, much to Aro's excruciating pleasure.

Watching his master's uncharacteristic lethargy, Demetri wanted to scream. Enough already! Was a third hearing of this newborn's misdeeds absolutely necessary? Such a trite tale, weeds of bloodlust in a garden untended. Thanks to Aro's overdeveloped flair for the dramatic, pulling the wild growth by the roots could not be rushed. Maybe the audience assembled for their trip to Allesworth needed to have the Volturi's sense of justice impressed upon it.

Since his run-in with Aro's sense of justice, the result of an ill-conceived solo jaunt to Edinburgh, Demetri did not question it. He knew firsthand the tricks Jane would use if the defendant didn't comply. He shivered at the memory of her commitment to the exercise. She and Aro had drawn details out of him—where exactly he went, what he intended, whom he encountered—that he hadn't even noticed the first time through. Only after they were satisfied did Aro put a palm to his and confirm.

Or so he assumed. Aro and Jane learned early that more could be squeezed from a memory under stress. As much as she enjoyed the torture, it served a purpose. That fact had been dropped in their bucket of secrets centuries ago.

Aro's repeated requests for information about the youngling's maker were met with frightened silence. The purpose of guests dawned on the guard: witnesses in preparation for their journey. Knowing Jane's capabilities could ensure their cooperation.

Save one doe-eyed exception and her co-conspirator, how the Volturi would handle this unbroken vampire plagued the gallery at large. For centuries, rumors had circulated but no one outside Volterra had actually seen them handle disobedience and their imaginations flailed. They would not be disappointed in the show. Nothing pleased Jane more than the power she could wield at will, knowing that she could better even Aro's omniscience. While not able to conjure fire or wind out of the air, she could certainly inspire someone else to get them for her.

Jane let the newborn feel a sizzle and then made him drop to the floor, screaming.

The gasping of a lovely spectator from Italy was contagious. The collective intake of breath created a ripple in the air that Jane could actually feel. That feeling, knowing that at the snap of a finger she'd made a room full of monsters congratulate themselves on never having angered her before, made her high. The heady cocktail, the rush of power, heat of anticipation, the thrill of preying, all combined to make her enormous eyes a bottomless black.

An outlet for her desire would have to be found.

Eventually Alec immersed the poor vampire in nothingness and Felix removed his head. Almost immediately, the smell of incense filled the Tuscan hillside. Servants stoked the new fire in the throne room.

Unable to resist the opportunity to impress upon these immortals his power, Aro spoke one last time before he retreated. "A death so miniscule is almost no price at all for our collective peace of mind."

Taking her brother Alec by the hand, Jane exited the killing tower with an absolute indifference belying her anticipation. The hint of pain she used to tease Aro during the unruly youngling's undoing was an aphrodisiac she was powerless to resist.

6*9

As an immortal there were few things Aro couldn't possess. He'd been a charismatic enough human, though he had no memory of that humble beginning. A touch of the hand and he knew exactly what phrasing to use, what angle to take to get at his prize most expeditiously. That having been said, he wasn't entirely certain that he wanted the twins when he found them in the town square of an entirely exsanguinated village. Aro was prepared to execute them if the impressions of their maker proved unreliable. These two might be too dangerous to control.

That was a complication Aro had never encountered and he found himself uncertain, intrigued. Already torn.

He raised his palms, as if showing he bore no weapon made a difference. "Young ones, we mean you no harm. We are simply here to assess the situation and provide for your safety."

The female spoke first, clear and sweet. Guileless, because the bright scarlet painting the town's ditches was the last thing in the world she had left to hide from fellow predators. "We can provide for our own safety."

"Yes. Yes, of course. What I mean is that there are many immortals, many like us, and they may not be as welcoming as my friends and I. There is talk of fear…and what we fear we seek to disarm."

"We cannot be disarmed. We simply are." The young man believed naïvely that he could make his own case. His sister seemed to realize that he was making Aro's.

"So is that it, then? You've come to clear away the unknown for the masses? Such a sad servant you make, operating at the whim of others."

Even with her words she knew how to cause the most anguish without leaving even a ripple across the surface of the water. Want crippled Aro, making the decision his impressive intellect failed to. He wouldn't return to Volterra without her. In fact, he did not.

6*9

Aro walked the damp tunnel quickly, following Jane to today's rendezvous. It was always somewhere different, conveyed by the routine submission of her hand to his. It was an invasion all the guard allowed. He arrived at the medieval prison and felt her before he could pinpoint her location.

The frisson of pain caressed him, just like in the throne room earlier. He twitched at the surprise.

"Minx. Show yourself." She never disappointed.

A sharper slice traversed his back.

"What good would seeing me do? Just close your eyes. I'll know if you peek."

"Will you?" He was already poised to strike, but a moment too late. Electricity coursed through him, snapped at the arches of his feet.

For the others, she pretended that she couldn't control it, that she might try to dole out pain incrementally but couldn't be held accountable for its potency. She could, in fact, measure it out precisely, scientifically, even taking into account a person's experience as it might increase their tolerance for discomfort. Too much pain would simply render a human unconscious, an unacceptable way out. Not enough excruciation and they thought they'd won.

Somewhere between the poles hid that perfect point, the punishment that left them with enough hope to remain in the game. And it was her game.

For a rare few, the space between the poles harbored another surprise. For Aro, a throb of pleasure rushed in to take away the sting of each stroke he received, heightened every sensation until the wave broke.

6*9

The twins were not averse to the idea of returning to Volterra with Caius and Aro. They liked the security of numbers, the luxury of adjusting to their new existence with experienced help.

Even without any memory of their humanity, they complemented one another like two halves of a broken plate. The edges were unpredictable, smooth and jagged, glazed and porous. Yet when they were placed just so, not a trace of their brokenness remained visible to the naked eye. Their scar disappeared, hidden until they parted ways. They were seldom parted.

With a hand to Jane's, Aro found the cleft and his perfect memory never lost its location.

Jane looked like innocence personified—wide-eyed with soft, sexless edges. Alec was truly innocent. He saw the world in black and white, in graphic relief. When they faced the world hand-in-hand, they were balanced. The result was a structure of extraordinary strength. And while a strong pair contributed to a stable Volterra, it was all but useless to Aro personally.

Alec helped Jane see her talent as a dangerous weapon, to be used only in the direst situations. For his sake, for his affection, she let him think that pain came in a single, awful incarnation. She used it only for protection and out of shame hid the full range of her ability.

Aro saw the shades she was capable of creating and immediately wanted to capitalize on her talent's potential. He also saw how little Alec understood, how Jane wanted that to remain so, how the dilemma created an opportunity for him.

Looking into dangerously red eyes, enormous with fright, he struck the blow with a gemcutter's precision. "Young one, you have seen so much pain. Let me help you adjust to carrying it in this new life."

In a single sentence, Alec was won over by the feigned paternal concern and Jane by his predatory cunning. The two were parted without need of Alec's numbing.

Jane hid her triumph behind lowered lashes. "I would be in your debt, Master."

While Alec wondered at the darkly altered gaze when she raised her face, Aro wondered how long harnessing it would take.

6*9

Jane looked contrite. She was anything but apologetic. "You know how it works, Master. I am merely a handmaiden in this."

Aro wanted to squeal with delight, to clap his hands and laugh like a child. He loved when Jane was in the mood to play. Her tricks during the trial and execution led him to believe that she might want to toy with him. He'd had no idea how spot-on that impression was.

"But I would like to find you."

It took her a scant second to form a scenario. "That can be arranged. I'll guide you."

The soles of his feet buzzed, as if the floor itself had come to life. He liked this game. A move in the right direction and the buzz undulated, friction just where he wanted it. A step she disapproved of and it stabbed.

She led him to her person circumspectly, not that he expected differently, and remained absolutely still. As a predator, he knew exactly how to find her; she was not truly hidden. But this was a different kind of hunt and he wanted desperately to be preyed upon.

He never expected the pounce, he expected to be allowed to find her. A knee rested on either side of his hips and she forced her bare palms to his, finally allowing him a quick preview of her plan.

Wordlessly, he rose and stretched himself across the table. The shackles she attached would never restrain him, but he allowed himself to be reined in. He knew that her pupils dilating in response to the sight of him would be all the satisfaction he'd get until she said so. A turn of the wheel, and he was upright.

6*9

Jane's connection to Alec baffled Marcus. In a world of constants—stony limbs, ageless beauty, unchanging connections—the twins' shifting relationship kept him guessing.

Aro had to be the one to enlighten him. "The children are two halves of the same whole. What one neglects, the other nurtures; if one needs, the other supplies. It would appear that they were even turned together by the same venom. I've never encountered anything like it. The symbiosis is miraculous. Beautiful. I think that their connection is a gift in and of itself. Doubly gifted, the pair."

Poor Marcus had no idea that Aro had spent more hours than he had pondering that unique relationship, but with the goal of picking it apart.

After she'd disabled a newborn with hurricane force, Aro had wondered at her effortless power. When she'd rendered a centuries'-old wrongdoer positively pliant with little more than the flick of a finger, he'd marveled even more. She was an artist.

He summoned her almost immediately. Certain she was about to receive a verbal beating, she prepared her surprisingly tender heart for harsh words from Master.

They were alone. Without guards. Without extra ears. Without so much as a snack. Jane was genuinely afraid of the implications—something far worse than words—and began to thinking frantically of her offense.

Even before her scent had wafted over to Aro he felt the thrumming from head to toe, the prowling fingers of a little death so fleet he wondered if he hadn't imagined the thrill that knifed him. _Her offense._

That he didn't flinch at her warning shot made Jane even more afraid but she carried on with her bluff. "Aren't you afraid?"

"I might ask the same of you, young one."

She'd never before heard that timbre in his voice. She was affecting him and tingled with confused excitement. "I am. You haven't answered me."

He approached carefully, never having needed cunning so much as at that moment. "Very. I'm very afraid and I haven't been in such a long time. Fear is a powerful thing, eliciting responses as varied as they are powerful."

The electricity beneath his skin dulled as she reconsidered her position. If she incapacitated Aro, she could never outrun the guard. "I am afraid. You're correct. That's why I issued that warning. It's the only reason. Please don't be angry. I won't do it again."

He took her hands in his and saw her misunderstanding perfectly. It was, at least, a start. "My pet, that is precisely the reason you are here."

Jane was left to worry for but a moment.

"I'd like to…agonize. I'd like you to make me. I'm intrigued by your gift. It's interesting how many words describe both that which plagues us with both pain and desire, how many parallels exist in indicating degrees of both."

The thought of toying with a willing subject flipped a switch; she had no idea that she was smiling. Hungry. Tiny shards of ice rained down her extremities, a thrilling uncertainty begging her to look over the cliff's edge. The possibilities.

"There are shades, then?"

Clearly he'd been thinking about it. "You know this."

"I know that you know. Introduce me. Start me off slow. Acquaint me…intimately."

She paused, smelling a trap. She'd never touched the body of another being for pleasure. Not being familiar with carnal desire did not keep her from skepticism…or from learning the ropes rapidly. The tally of ways she could torture him mounted and she was anxious to try every one. "Pain intrigues you?"

He circled. "I should say so. You should see yourself, practically humming—pooled venom, dilated pupils. Entirely feral. So controlled, distant most of the time but this idea, this…power…its effect on you is immediate."

Still she didn't speak. She didn't even inhale. The question wouldn't go away. How could he know? How could he know when she hadn't known herself?

So faint that he wondered if he was mistaken, a blush of heat as if he'd walked just too close to a bonfire singed a trail from his center out. A test. Beginning with an ember at his navel, heat washed to the apex of his thighs, eliciting a snarl and a curl of his lips into what might've been a smile.

He smelled it; he could practically taste it. Venom, not from her mouth. And he circled because it affected him like blood in the water. Instinctually, he knew how to deal with that desire and knew that she did not.

As obvious as her curiosity was, her agony to give in, he knew only her power made her hungry. She hadn't even adjusted her high collar or removed a glove.

Jane took her fire away and considered its effects. He was panting but only allowed a moment for her to see how badly he wanted more. It was enough. The cool authority he exuded had burned away, if only for a split second. It was just long enough to addict her. Aro didn't ask more than once for anything—information, obedience, trinkets.

She would make him beg.

"You are new to this life as I am to the nuances of your gift. Maybe we can introduce one another."

"I don't know."

He knew better.

In the days following their encounter, Aro requested a young blonde be brought to him, not some simpering fool. He toyed with her for weeks, dressing her in a cloak the same color as Jane's, calling her "pet" and lavishing her with attention before turning her. He and his wife treated the girl as a daughter. They decorated her apartment, bought her jewels, dressed her like a princess. Jane never addressed her until she'd been turned.

Then, another pet was brought to him. Lanky, brooding Renata never left Aro's side, wrapping her warm fingers in his cold ones and sleeping with her head in his lap to show her trust. She'd been stalked for weeks as the guard tried to determine if she had a talent or tremendously good fortune. Tristan was sent in to bring her back to Volterra—easy prey for such a practiced hand. Even when Jane made her fingers feel frostbitten and her cheeks sting with cold from the contact with Aro, Renata persevered doggedly for his affection.

Jealous Jane began taunting Aro around the other residents of Volterra, an exchange just outside the collective awareness, torturing him in public places. She had no idea how he enjoyed their secret mutual agony. She refused to drink in the presence of the girls, for fear she would sink her teeth into one of them and have an even larger problem.

Leaving the castle to hunt alone, Jane encountered Aro. He'd been waiting for her to leave. That they hadn't touched in days indicated to him a secret that her onyx eyes couldn't keep. She steeled herself instantly. "Is there something you require?"

"I'm here to keep up my end of our agreement."

"There are many skills I need to learn. How to feed myself is not one of them."

"How indeed. Come." She did, even as she wondered why she would allow him to make her.

As they ran, he explained. "A young girl nearby has been pining for an older boy in a town a few miles away. Her parents constantly fear that she may run off with him. No one would miss either child were they to disappear into the night."

Having watched Jane slake her thirst, he knew her to be single-minded when presented with a meal: base of the neck, just above the collarbone, always quick and clean. "Drinking with an audience is not the best way to enjoy a meal or to learn what part of a human you prefer. Groups make one so…self-conscious. We'll sneak off and do a tasting on our own. Life is too long for endless mediocrity."

Their path stopped at the edge of a tidy farm. "There are delicacies if you can restrain yourself enough to find them." Three fingers settled onto the fabric over her dress, exactly where a heartbeat would've been. "What is in the heart is purest but to drink from it like a chalice," his fingers moved down her sternum, following a left rib out until it was nearly parallel with the center of her breast, before continuing, "you have to get your hands dirty."

Pressing upward, he indicated the vulnerable slit that would accommodate first a finger to create a fountain, the perfect size for a mouth. His hand dropped straight down, coming to rest just below her hipbone. Venom laced her tongue at the thought of the pulse there. Dropping to a crouch, he brought his hands behind her knees. Thinking of the delicious throb she knew to be there, she didn't notice the playful mouth around her ankle until his teeth were in contact with her skin. "Blood in the extremities is full of extra things, the evidence of their stresses and exertions. You might prefer it."

A purist, Jane turned up her nose at the suggestion, earning a rare smile from Aro as he returned her skirt to the ground.

Jane retrieved the lass and Aro returned with the lad.

The sleeping lovers never felt the blanketed arms that whisked their exhausted bodies into the night and barely twitched when her sharp incisors pierced their groins, cold fingers snapping their necks. Jane wondered at her own frantic bloodlust and the strange half-satisfied feeling from her meal. She wanted more.

"I warned you that you'd get your fingers dirty if you did it my way." Aro looked at her wine-red index and middle fingers. She cleaned one with her own mouth and offered the second to him, an offer he didn't decline.

Aro knew exactly the half-satisfaction she felt. "There was an exchange, I believe. I would acquaint you with the finer points of feeding and politics and you would help me understand pain."

Now she could make him beg. "Of course, Master. Where should we begin?"

"I have just the place in mind." The occasional glimmer across the bridge of Jane's nose reminded him that the sun would be rising. They needed to get underground.

"Not here?"

"No. I have no desire for an audience."

6*9

A finger along his cheekbone told Aro that today he would lose his clothes. In years of these encounters, he could count on one hand the number of times he'd been nude. Ever the pragmatist, she removed only what she needed for access. Just the memories made him weak—her mouth, there. She always drank him in right down to the last drop, as if he were a delicacy.

Today was a celebration of sorts. Out with the old, in with the new. They might never return to these halls again.

The visual—a man she called "Master" in front of others, willingly chained and at taut attention—heated Jane from the darkest corners of her body. She could only deny him as long as she could deny herself and so tried to think of something less arousing: plant names. He stood in the center of the room, an "X" marking the actual center of her attention, with a stone platform behind his thighs.

_Cephalotus follicularis._

Jane needed neither light nor time to get rid of Aro's clothes. The snap of a finger and they were gone. The shifting of the air as she moved aroused Aro even more, so strained was his interest.

_Darlintonia californica._

She examined the sheen of condensation collecting on his skin, knowing exactly what it would taste like. Regardless, she slid a finger across the plane of his chest leaving a dry hash mark. Not out of curiosity, but because she wanted to, she licked it.

"Delicious."

_Nepthenes mirabilis._

6*9

Volterra resembled nothing so much as an ants' nest, with the fortress its bustling center. To the untrained eye, it might appear that the drones and soldiers scurried along the surface streets. In fact, the real action took place below ground, in the miles of ancient and not-so-ancient tunnels and rooms carved into the mountain. Many led nowhere and malingered in disuse, harboring torture devices and detention cells, in Aro's mind a maze perfect for changing his new talent. This venture qualified and he raised no suspicions when he set out with Jane.

Somewhere amidst the tangle was just the place Aro had in mind.

"This is highly unusual, Master."

"I cannot disagree." Aro found himself in a bit of a conundrum. Confessing the depths of his real interest might unnerve her. Lying to her might anger her. "But a grave indiscretion on your part has come to my attention. As you know well, all the residents of Volterra keep me apprised of her goings-on with a brush of their fingers."

"They are lying." Try as she might, Jane could think of no one in Volterra who might wish her ill or what such a person could have misunderstood to be misbehavior on her part. This was not at all what she had in mind.

"They cannot."

"They can misunderstand."

"Enlighten me."

She tore at her glove, anxious to defend herself. "Why would you trick me into coming here? And where is your protection, your executioners if I am plotting against you? You have no one." He had no one. If no one accompanied him, it was because he didn't want them to.

Aro reached a hand to her bare fingers, only to come up empty. She lifted her head to make eye contact and his fingers ached so that he rubbed them together. He wasn't sure if the throbbing moved towards his center because she made it or because he was in such misery for it to do so.

"You're hurting me, pet." It was a question, an invitation, a dare from which she couldn't back down. Why would he lie to her? No one accused her with their thoughts.

"Why am I here?"

"Because you're power-hungry and a danger." His voiced cracked just enough to make her regret stabbing his legs all over. Suddenly he was stiff; he'd agonized over her so long that he couldn't help but smile at this taste of what he wanted.

"WHY am I here?" Enraged by his smug expression, Jane lashed out again, this time at his back, and wondered how he kept his feet. Still, she knew that he wouldn't be able to strike back at her and she put her body a hairsbreadth from his. "I can do this until you tell me. If you had help, they would have intervened by now."

As angry as she was, she couldn't help but enjoy the familiar rush of toying with this man, testing his limits, calling the shots. Maybe he wouldn't give in easily.

For the first time in ages, the shapeless din in Aro's head went quiet, his focus narrowed, attuned to that pinpoint where she made him feel. Her attack allowed nothing but his sharpest attention and as the knives keened themselves on his iron flesh he saw a glimpse of how he could be. What he could be, if she'd only refine him with this fire. He willed his hands away from his body and, for the first time, Jane's confidence in pain stumbled.

"WHY AM I HERE?" The wind from her roar swept over his face.

Aro's voice failed him but his hands lifted to her hips and rested there. The pain sputtered out as Jane tried to understand.

He gasped. "You know why."

"I've held up my end. I should go." In her mind, the betrayal she felt outweighed his tiny deceit. She felt as if she'd been used for more than a lesson in torture and didn't understand why.

"I asked to be acquainted intimately with pain. That was the same tune you play for everyone else, strangers even." He pulled her in. The hard evidence of what he truly wanted met the plane of her stomach through the layers of their clothes.

Without a word or a change in expression, she let him know just how clearly she understood. Not quite metaphorically, but without the clunkiness of a metal tool, Jane made Aro feel the squeeze of a vice on his manhood. She didn't hurt him enough to do more than make the already painful throb more pronounced.

On his knees before her, watching as she took her sweet time putting her glove back on, he wondered how he would be able to keep his hands to himself until she allowed more.

"You enjoyed that."

He shivered. "Only some of it. When you torture me like that, what you do and how you go about it are not mine to command. I'm not 'Master.' I'm whatever you tell me. The…release of those moments is indescribable. In between, when you are warning me, that I enjoy. I will not lie to you again. The punishment was not something I want to endure regularly."

He smiled weakly, still recovering as she turned to leave. "And I have no secrets now. Just you."

She doubled back and placed an ungloved palm against Aro's, sealing their pact.

6*9

She circled, sharklike. "You were slow in getting to me today."

"You gave me no reason to rush to judgment."

Her displeasure radiated in lightning strikes from his navel towards his extremities and continued as he hardened. Convinced of his discomfort, she moved from his line of sight and removed everything but her cloak. He could hear the cloth, the slow untying and pushing of each button through its eye. Her arousal saturated the air around him, the sweet damp smell of sap rising to the first rush of heat.

She stood before him again until he was expectant, knowing he wouldn't speak until she allowed it. "Eyes like midnight, legs practically quivering…you're nearly consumed with hunger." When he didn't speak, she tempted him again. The bait, a finger with a single drop of moisture on it, hung in the air just beyond his mouth.

He knew the penalty for taking it without being told.

"Now." Her entire index finger disappeared in his mouth and chillbumps rose on her spine as he retreated. She rewarded him with a prickling on the soles of his feet that undulated and lapped its way behind his knees, over his thighs and down his swollen sex. Sharp and dull, it alternated and licked at the smooth skin where his legs met. In this ecstasy, he wondered how long he could hold a climax at bay. She liked to push and withhold, to tease him as she had in the throne room earlier, and was never so angry as when he came before she wanted.

She was finding her own limits as well.

_Dionaea muscipula._ "Nevermind."

A few running steps and she leapt at him, perfectly sheathing him inside her. With her knees on the stone behind him and her hands in the chains above him, she attacked. While she rode, she sent shockwaves through his torso that felt as if they left his body where it joined hers. The pain ebbed, her cue to him. He climaxed monstrously, inevitably, with her legs around him like a vice.

"How far did you get?"

"All the way to the Venus flytrap."

He traced a finger over her shoulder, wondering how long they had today. "Such restraint. She's at the end of your list, isn't she?"

"Yes. I'm getting ready for our jaunt to Allesworth. A twitchy trigger finger would be counter-productive there."

Entwined as they were, whispering in her ear was easy. "We find out the truth about Tristan's legacy once and for all, I guess."

She grinned. "We can do this without knowing. There's so much risk in going to England again. And there are no rendezvous there."

"We cannot rule the world swatting at the Cullens like mosquitoes forever. And we cannot rule the world from this bunker, Madame." Just the thought of what they could do together made him want her again.


End file.
